THE  HOLY  CITY 

JERUSALEM   II 


FROM    THE    SWEDISH    OF 

SELMA  LAGERLOF    - 


TRANSLATED    BY 

VELMA    SWANSTON    HOWARD 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE    &    COMPANY 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,     PAGE     &     COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages 


CONTENTS 

The  Holy  Rock  and  the  Holy  Sepulchre      .  3 

BOOK  ONE 

Bo  Ingmar  Mansson  .  31 

The  Man  with  the  Cross  .  45 

"A  City  of  Gold,  like  unto  Clear  Glass "  55 

God's  Holy  City,  Jerusalem     .        .  67 

On  the  Wings  of  the  Morning  83 

Baram  Pasha        .        .  IO1 

"Flowers  from  Palestine"  .  H5 

Gehenna         .       ,        .        .  I29 

The  Well  of  Paradise  H3 

Ingmar  Ingmarsson     .  *75 

BOOK  TWO 

Barbro  Svensdotter     ....  I81 

The  Dervish          ....  225 

A  Time  of  Stress        .  243 

Ingmar 's  Fight     ...  271 

On  the  Mount  of  Olives    .  283 

"We  shall  Meet  Bye-and-bye' '  291 

The  Child      .        .  3ii 
Home  from  the  Pilgrimage       .       .       .       .     N .       329 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  THE  HOLY 
SEPULCHRE 


THE  HOLY  CITY 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE 

IT  WAS  a  hot  August  in  Palestine.  Every  day  the 
sun  beat  down  upon  the  heads  of  the  people.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  on  the  sky  and  no  rain  had  fallen 
since  April.  Though  not  any  hotter  than  it  is  wont  to 
be  at  this  season,  it  was  almost  unbearable.  How  one 
would  ever  be  able  to  endure  such  heat  one  hardly  knew, 
or  where  one  could  go  to  escape  it. 

Jaffa  was  perhaps  the  best  refuge — not  in  the  city 
itself,  with  its  buildings  crowded  closely  together  on  a 
steep  hill,  and  where  a  sickening  stench  arose  from  the 
filthy  streets  and  the  large  soap  factories;  but  the  town 
lay  close  by  the  sea,  which  always  brought  some  fresh 
ening  breeze.  And  one  could  be  fairly  comfortable  in 
the  environs,  as  Jaffa  was  surrounded  by  hundreds  of 
orange  groves,  where  the  fruit  hung  fresh  and  cool,  pro 
tected  from  the  blasting  sunlight  by  its  stiff  and  glossy 
dark-green  foliage. 

But  how  insufferably  hot  it  was  even  in  Jaffa!  The 
big  leaves  of  the  tall,  resinous  shrubs  were  dry  and  shriv 
eled  and  the  hardy  pelargoniums,  no  longer  able  to  flower, 
lay  drooping  on  mounds  and  in  hollows — almost  buried 
beneath  billows  of  dust.  Seeing  the  red  blossoms  of  the 
cactus  hedges,  one  would  imagine  it  was  all  the  heat 

3 


4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

which  their  thick  stems  had  absorbed  through  the  summer 
that  had  suddenly  broken  out  in  great  flames.  One  real 
ized  how  hot  it  must  be,  when  seeing  the  children  running 
along  the  beach,  to  get  down  to  the  sea,  lift  their  feet 
high,  as  though  they  were  stepping  upon  burning  coals. 

If  one  could  not  stand  it  in  Jaffa,  then  where  was  one 
to  go?  Anyhow,  it  was  better  here  than  on  the  wide 
plain  of  Sharon,  which  lay  beyond  the  town,  between 
the  sea  and  the  mountains.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
people  still  staying  in  the  small  towns  and  villages  that 
dotted  the  plain,  though  it  was  difficult  to  understand 
how  they  could  survive  the  heat  and  drouth.  But  they 
rarely  ventured  outside  their  windowless  dwellings  and 
never  left  the  towns,  where  the  houses  and  a  few  solitary 
trees  yielded  them  some  little  protection  against  the 
sun.  On  the  open  plain  one  could  no  more  have  found 
a  green  blade  of  grass  than  a  human  being.  All  the 
beautiful  red  anemones  and  poppies  of  the  spring,  all 
the  little  pinks  and  daisies  that  had  covered  the  ground 
as  with  a  thick  red-and-white  carpet,  were  gone;  and 
the  crops  of  wheat,  rye  and  durra  grown  in  the  fields  near 
the  towns,  had  already  been  harvested,  and  the  harvest 
ers,  with  their  oxen  and  asses,  their  songs  and  dances,  had 
returned  to  their  village  homes.  All  that  remained  of  the 
glories  of  spring  were  the  tall  withered  stalks  that  rose 
above  the  sun-baked  soil — and  that  had  once  borne 
beautiful,  fragrant  lilies. 

A  good  many  persons  maintained  that  one  could  best 
stand  the  summers  in  Jerusalem.  The  town  was  cer- 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE    5 

tainly  cramped  and  over-populated,  but  as  it  lay  at  the 
highest  point  of  the  long  range  of  mountains  extending 
across  the  whole  of  Palestine,  no  breath  of  wind  could 
come  from  any  direction  without  its  freshness  reaching 
the  Holy  City.  But,  notwithstanding  these  blessed 
winds  and  the  light  mountain  air,  there  was  more  than 
enough  of  summer  heat  even  in  Jerusalem.  People  slept 
at  night  on  the  roofs  of  their  houses,  and  remained  in 
doors  during  the  day.  They  had  to  drink  ill-smelling 
water,  which  had  gathered  in  the  subterranean  cisterns 
during  the  winter  rains;  and  they  were  anxious  lest  that 
even  that  might  give  out.  The  least  puff  of  wind  raised 
thick  clouds  of  lime-dust,  and  when  one  walked  along 
the  white  roads  outside  the  city  one's  feet  sank  deep 
into  the  soft  fine  soil.  But  worst  of  all,  the  heat  pre 
vented  people  from  sleeping.  For  lack  of  sleep  the  in 
habitants  of  Jerusalem  were  by  day  depressed  and  irri 
table,  and  at  night  had  terrifying  visions  and  were  tor 
mented  by  haunting  fears. 

On  one  of  these  hot  nights  an  American  woman,  who 
had  been  living  in  Jerusalem  for  some  years,  lay  tossing 
on  her  bed,  unable  to  rest.  She  moved  her  bed  from  the 
room  onto  the  balcony  outside  her  window  and  applied 
a  cold  compress  to  her  aching  head;  but  nothing  afforded 
her  any  relief.  She  lived  about  five  minutes'  walk 
from  the  Damascus  gate,  in  a  palatial  house  that  stood 
quite  by  itself  in  a  lonely  spot.  Hence  one  would  have 
thought  that  out  there  the  air  would  be  fresh  and  pure, 
but  that  night  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  sultriness  of  the  city 


6  THE  HOLY  CITY 

had  centred  about  the  house.  There  was  a  little  wind, 
but  it  came  from  the  desert,  and  was  hot  and  stinging, 
as  if  filled  with  invisible  sand-grains.  To  add  to  the  dis 
comforts  of  the  night,  a  lot  of  street  dogs  roving  outside 
the  city  walls  rent  the  air  with  their  loud  yelps. 

The  American  woman,  having  lain  awake  for  hours, 
became  prey  to  despondency.  In  her  effort  to  conquer 
her  depression  she  reminded  herself  that,  since  coming 
to  Jerusalem,  led  by  a  divine  revelation,  she  had  been 
singularly  blessed;  she  had  founded  a  colony,  and  had 
overcome  persecutions  and  hardships  untold;  but  now 
she  could  find  no  comfort  even  in  these  thoughts. 

She  lay  imagining  that  her  faithful  followers  would  be 
murdered,  that  her  enemies  would  set  fire  to  the  house, 
that  Jerusalem  was  sending  all  its  fanatics  against  her, 
and  she  would  be  crushed  by  the  blind  hatred  and 
bigotry  nurtured  within  its  walls. 

She  tried  to  regain  her  usual  serene  confidence.  Why 
should  she  despair  now,  she  asked  herself,  just  when  her 
cause  was  progressing  so  well,  when  the  Gordon  Colony 
had  been  strengthened  by  the  addition  of  some  fifty 
sturdy,  capable  Swedes,  who  had  come  over  from  Amer 
ica,  and  when  still  more  of  these  good,  dependable  people 
were  coming  from  Sweden.  In  reality  her  mission  had 
never  appeared  so  promising  as  at  that  time. 

At  last,  to  escape  from  her  morbid  fears,  she  got  up, 
threw  around  her  a  long  voluminous  cloak,  and  went  out 
in  the  direction  of  Jerusalem.  Turning  from  the  road, 
she  climbed  a  steep  little  hill,  from  the  top  of  which  could 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE    7 

be  seen,  in  the  moonlight,  the  turreted  walls  and  the 
numberless  large  and  small  cupolas  of  the  city  outlined 
against  the  nocturnal  sky. 

Though  still  righting  her  fears  and  apprehensions,  she 
could  not  but  notice  the  solemn  beauties  of  the  night. 
The  pale-green  moonlight  of  Palestine  shed  its  weird 
lustre  over  the  landscape,  and  gave  to  everything  an 
air  of  awesome  mystery.  Suddenly  the  thought  came  to 
her:  Just  as  in  the  old  castles  of  Europe  there  are 
haunted  rooms,  where  ghosts  are  said  to  abide,  so  this 
ancient  city,  and  the  desolate  hills  surrounding  it,  might 
perchance  be  the  Old  World's  haunted  chamber,  a  place 
where  one  would  expect  to  see  vanished  grandeur  de 
scending  from  the  mountains  and  the  ghosts  of  bygone 
ages  roaming  about  in  the  darkness  of  night. 

The  woman  felt  no  terror  at  these  thoughts;  on  the 
contrary,  they  filled  her  with  joyous  expectation.  Since 
the  night  of  the  wreck  of  the  steamship  L'Univers,  when 
she  had  heard  the  voice  of  God  speak  to  her,  she  had  now 
and  then  received  a  message  from  another  world.  She 
felt  that  something  of  the  kind  would  come  to  her  now. 
Her  brain  seemed  to  expand,  her  senses  became  singularly 
acute;  she  perceived  that  the  night  was  not  silent,  but 
full  of  strange  sounds. 

Before  she  realized  what  had  come  over  her,  she  heard 
a  powerful  voice,  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  a  very 
old  and  austere  being,  utter  these  words : 

"Verily,  I  can  with  pride  hold  my  head  above  the  dust; 
none  is  like  unto  me  in  might  and  holiness." 


8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

This  was  no  sooner  said  than  a  sharp  bell-clang  issued 
from  the  Dome  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  It  sounded  like 
a  curt  contradiction. 

The  first  voice  continued:  "Was  it  not  I  that  caused  the 
city  to  spring  up  in  the  wilderness,  that  filled  the  earth  with 
the  fear  of  God,  that  stemmed  the  tide  of  the  world  and 
forced  it  into  a  new  channel?" 

The  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the  east,  from  that  part 
of  the  town  where  Solomon's  Temple  once  stood,  and 
where  Omar's  Mosque  was  now  sharply  outlined  against 
the  grayish-green  horizon. 

"Harken  to  me!"  the  voice  from  the  old  Temple  site 
went  on.  "My  recollections  of  this  place  go  back  to  the 
age  long  before  there  was  any  city  on  this  mountain. 
I  remember  it  as  a  wild  and  inaccessible  ridge.  In 
the  beginning  it  was  only  a  mass  of  rock;  but  all  the 
rains  which  from  the  creation  of  the  world  had  fallen 
upon  it  split  it  up  into  numberless  hills,  some  of  which 
had  gently-rising  slopes;  others  had  broad  summits  and 
perpendicular  walls;  others,  again,  were  so  narrow  they 
could  only  serve  as  bridges  between  the  different 
heights."  ' 

Here  followed  a  succession  of  loud  peals  from  the  direc 
tion  where  rose  the  Dome  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

The  woman,  whose  ear  had  now  become  attuned  to 
the  sounds  reverberating  through  the  night,  noted  that 
here  was  also  a  voice  uttering  audible  words.  She  seemed 
to  hear  a  short  "this  I  too  have  seen." 

The  first  voice  spoke  again.     "At  the  highest  point 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE    9 

of  this  ridge  was  a  mountain  called  Moriah,  whose  aspect 
was  sombre  and  forbidding. " 

The  woman  sat  down  on  a  little  heap  of  ruins,  rested 
her  head  against  her  hand,  and  listened. 

As  soon  as  the  first  voice  grew  silent,  as  if  from  ex 
haustion,  the  second  voice  responded:  "I  also  remember 
how  the  mountain  looked  in  the  beginning." 

"One  day,"  resumed  the  voice  from  the  Temple  site, 
"it  happened  that  some  shepherds,  who  wandered  about 
the  hills  with  their  flocks,  discovered  this  mountain, 
which  was  well  guarded  by  hills  and  vales,  as  if  it  held  great 
treasures  and  wonderful  secrets.  They  climbed  to  its 
broad  summit,  and  found  there  a  thing  most  holy." 

"They  found  nothing  but  a  block  of  stone,"  said  the 
voice  of  the  bell-like  clang.  "It  was  a  large  round  some 
what  flat  stone,  raised  a  little  above  the  ground  and 
supported  by  a  smaller  stone,  and  it  resembled  the  head  of 
a  giant  mushroom." 

"But  the  shepherds,"  said  the  first  voice,  "who  knew 
all  the  sacred  legends  from  the  beginning  of  Time,  were 
filled  with  joy  at  beholding  it.  'This  is  the  great  Sus 
pended  Rock  about  which  we  have  heard  so  much,'  said 
they.  'This  stone  was  the  first  thing  God  formed  when 
He  created  the  world.  From  here  He  spread  forth  the 
surface  of  the  earth,  east,  west,  north  and  south;  from 
here  He  built  up  the  mountains  and  rolled  out  the  seas, 
clear  to  the  borders  of  the  firmament/  3 

The  voice  speaking  paused  a  moment,  as  if  expecting  a 
contradiction;  but  the  voice  of  the  bell  was  mute. 


io  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"How  extraordinary!"  thought  the  woman.  "Surely 
it  cannot  be  human  beings  talking?"  Yet  in  reality  it 
did  not  seem  so  very  extraordinary;  the  sultry  air  and 
the  pale-green  moonlight  made  the  strangest  phenomena 
appear  most  natural. 

"The  shepherds,"  continued  the  first  voice,  "hastened 
down  from  the  mountain  to  make  known  in  all  the  land 
that  they  had  found  the  corner-stone  of  the  world.  Soon 
afterwards,  great  numbers  of  people  came  up  to  Mount 
Moriah  to  offer  sacrifice  unto  God  on  me,  the  Suspended 
Rock,  and  to  praise  Him  for  His  glorious  work  of  Cre 


ation.'3 


The  voice  now  rose  to  something  that  was  like  a  song. 
In  the  high,  shrill  tones  dervishes  are  wont  to  use  when 
reciting  from  the  Koran,  it  chanted:  "Then  for  the  first 
time  I  received  sacrificial  offerings  and  adoration.  Re 
ports  of  my  existence  spread  far  and  wide.  Every  day 
long  caravans  could  be  seen  winding  across  the  grayish- 
white  hills  toward  Mount  Moriah.  Verily,  I  can  with 
pride  hold  my  head  high.  It  was  on  my  account  so  many 
people  came  to  Moriah,  that  merchants  found  it  to  their 
profit  to  bring  hither  their  wares.  Because  of  me  the 
hillside  was  settled  by  those  who  made  their  living 
by  providing  such  as  would  offer  sacrifice  with  fuel 
and  water,  with  frankincense  and  fire,  with  doves  and 
lambs." 

The  woman  raised  her  head  in  astonishment.  "It 
must  be  the  Holy  Rock  itself  speaking,"  she  thought. 
"Yes,  it  is  surely  the  great  stone  that  rests  beneath 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       11 

the  superb  mosaic  arches  in  Omar's  Mosque  whose  voice 
I  hear." 

Now  it  was  heard  to  proclaim:  "I  am  the  one  and 
only  Holy  Rock.  I  am  that  which  men  must  forever 
adore." 

This  was  no  sooner  said  than  answered  in  strong  tones 
from  the  Dome  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  "You  forget 
that  somewhere  near  the  middle  of  this  mountain  plain, 
where  you  yourself  once  rested,  there  was  a  modest  little 
hillock  covered  with  a  growth  of  wild  olives.  No  doubt 
you  would  rather  not  remember  that  the  old  patriarch 
Shem,  the  son  of  the  second  father  of  mankind,  Noah, 
once  came  up  to  Mount  Moriah ;  he  was  then  advanced  in 
years  and  his  life  was  drawing  to  a  close.  He  was  at 
tended  by  two  servants,  who  had  brought  with  them 
implements  needed  to  hollow  out  a  grave  in  the  rock." 

The  first  voice  made  no  response. 

"You  pretend  not  to  know  that  Shem's  father,  Noah, 
once  owned  and  treasured  the  skull  of  Adam,  as  a  pre 
cious  relic  of  the  father  of  race.  When  Noah  was  dying, 
he  bequeathed  the  skull  to  Shem,  rather  than  to  his 
other  sons,  because  he  foresaw  that  from  Shem  would 
spring  the  greatest  of  all  peoples.  And  then,  when  Shem 
felt  that  his  own  hour  had  struck,  he  determined  to  bury 
the  sacred  relic  on  Mount  Moriah.  But  being  endowed 
with  the  gift  of  prophecy,  he  did  not  put  the  skull  under 
the  Holy  Rock,  but  buried  it  on  the  modest  little  hillock 
covered  with  olive  trees,  which  from  that  day  was  known 
as  Golgotha,  or  a  place  of  a  skull." 


12  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"I  remember  this  incident  quite  well,"  replied  the  first 
voice,  "and  I  also  remember  that  those  who  worshipped 
the  rock  thought  the  patriarch  too  old  and  infirm  to 
know  what  he  was  about." 

A  single  shrill  tone  came  from  the  Church.  To  the 
woman  it  sounded  like  a  scornful  laugh. 

"But  so  trifling  a  matter  is  of  no  importance,"  rang 
out  from  the  Dome  of  the  Mosque.  "The  power  and 
sanctity  of  the  great  rock  only  increased  the  more. 
Princes  and  their  people  came  from  distant  lands  to 
offer  up  burnt  sacrifice  for  prosperity  and  happiness.  I 
can  remember  a  day  when  a  patriarch  greater  than  Shem 
visited  the  Mount.  I  have  seen  Abraham,  white-bearded 
and  venerable,  and  his  son  Isaac  pass  this  way.  And 
Abraham  did  not  seek  thee,  O  Golgotha,  but  it  was  upon 
the  Suspended  Rock  he  built  his  altar  and  bound  the  lad." 

"This,  to  be  sure,  must  always  be  reckoned  as  an 
honour  to  you,  but  remember  that  a  part  of  this  honour 
is  mine,"  spoke  the  second  voice.  "When  the  angel 
stayed  the  hand  of  Abraham,  and  he  looked  about  for  a 
sacrifice,  it  was  on  Golgotha  he  found  the  ram  caught 
by  its  horns  in  a  thicket  of  olive  shrubs." 

The  woman  listened  with  strained  attention.  The 
more  she  heard  of  the  contentious  claims  of  the  two 
temples,  the  less  hopefully  did  she  regard  her  own  mission. 
"O  God!"  she  sighed.  "Why  didst  Thou  command 
me  to  spread  the  Gospel  of  Unity,  when  strife  and  dissen 
sion  have  been  the  only  lasting  things  from  the  creation 
of  the  world?" 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       13 

The  first  voice  was  heard  to  say:  "I  forget  nothing 
worth  remembering.  Even  in  Abraham's  time  the 
mountain  plain  was  far  from  being  a  wilderness.  There 
was  a  city  here  ruled  by  a  king  who  was  the  High  Priest 
of  the  servants  of  the  Holy  Rock.  This  king  was  Mel- 
chisedek — he  who  appointed  regular  seasons  for  offerings 
and  instituted  the  beautiful  religious  ceremonies  solem 
nized  at  the  Holy  Rock/' 

The  other  voice  promptly  answered:  "I  also  acknowl 
edge  Melchisedek  as  a  holy  man  and  a  prophet.  That 
he  was  chosen  of  God  who  can  doubt,  since  he  wished  to 
be  buried  in  a  cave  on  Golgotha,  on  the  selfsame  spot 
where  rests  the  skull  of  Adam.  Have  you  never  thought 
of  the  prophetic  significance  of  this,  that  the  first  sinner 
and  the  first  saint  were  buried  in  the  one  grave?" 

"I  understand  that  you  make  much  of  this,"  said  the 
first  voice,  "but  I  can  tell  you  of  something  that  is  of 
far  greater  moment:  The  city  on  the  mountain  grew, 
the  hills  and  vales  hereabout  became  peopled,  and  were 
given  names.  In  time  only  the  eastern  side  of  the  moun 
tain,  where  the  Holy  Rock  lay,  was  known  as  Moriah; 
the  southern  slope  was  called  Zion,  the  western  Gareb, 
and  the  northern  Bezetha." 

"Still  it  was  nothing  but  a  small  town  that  lay  on  the 
mountain,"  the  first  voice  declared.  "Only  shepherds 
and  priests  lived  there.  People  had  no  desire  to  settle  in 
that  barren  rock-desert." 

This  was  answered  in  tones  so  loud  and  jubilant  they 
quite  startled  the  woman. 


i4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"I  have  seen  King  David,  in  shining  armour  and  coat  of 
crimson,  standing  here  looking  out  over  the  city,  before 
it  was  made  the  seat  of  his  government.  Why  did  he 
not  choose  instead  the  rich  and  smiling  city  of  Bethlehem  ? 
Why  not  Jericho  of  the  fertile  valley?  Why  did  he  not 
make  Gilgal  or  Hebron  the  chief  city  of  Israel?  Let  me 
remind  you  that  he  chose  this  place  because  of  the  Sus 
pended  Rock;  he  chose  it  because  the  kings  of  Israel 
must  needs  dwell  on  the  mountain  which  from  time 
immemorial  has  basked  in  the  shadow  of  my  sanctity." 

Then,  for  the  second  time,  the  voice  chanted  in  sus 
tained  tones  a  song  of  praise.  "I  see  the  great  city  with 
its  towers  and  walls;  the  King's  palace  with  its  thousand 
halls;  the  crowded  streets,  the  workshops,  and  the 
market-stalls.  I  see  the  beauty  and  splendour  of  the  City 
of  David.  As  I  look  back  upon  it  all,  I  may  well  say: 
'Great  is  thy  power,  O  Rock!  All  this  didst  thou  call 
forth.  None  is  like  unto  thee  in  sanctity  and  holiness. 
As  for  thee,  O  Golgotha,  thou  wast  but  a  spot  on  the 
earth,  a  barren  hill-top,  outside  the  city  wall.  Who 
ever  heard  of  thee  ?  Who  rendered  thee  homage,  or  wor 
shipped  thee?" 

As  this  chant  of  praise  rang  out  in  the  night,  the  voice 
of  the  bell  could  be  heard  muttering  in  muffled  tones,  as 
if  subdued  by  a  feeling  of  veneration:  "It  is  plain  that 
you  have  grown  old,  for  you  magnify  all  that  happened 
in  your  youth,  as  the  aged  are  wont  to  do.  The  City 
of  David  did  not  extend  beyond  Zion;  it  did  not  even 
reach  to  where  I  stand,  at  the  centre  of  the  mountain. 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       15 

Therefore  it  was  only  natural  that  I  should  continue  to 
rest  outside  the  city  wall." 

The  singing  voice,  seemingly  unmindful  of  the  interrup 
tion,  went  on  chanting  its  own  praises.  "Yet  thou  didst 
attain  to  thy  greatest  honour,  O  Rock,  in  the  time  of 
Solomon.  Then  round  about  thee  the  mountain  was 
levelled  and  covered  with  flat  stones,  on  which  were 
erected  colonnades,  as  in  the  courts  of  kings.  Over 
thee,  0  Rock,  the  Temple  was  raised,  and  upon  thee,  who 
art  the  head  corner-stone  of  the  world,  rested  the  Ark  of 
the  Covenant,  with  the  two  tables  of  stone  in  the  Holy 
of  Holies." 

To  which  there  came  no  word  of  dissent  from  the 
Church,  only  a  dull  sound  like  a  groan. 

"And  in  the  reign  of  Solomon  water  was  led  from  the 
depths  of  the  valleys  to  the  heights  round  about  Jeru 
salem;  for  Solomon  was  the  wisest  of  kings.  Trees 
sprang  up  from  the  dry  grayish-white  earth  and  roses 
grew  among  the  rocks.  At  autumn  they  gathered  figs 
and  grapes,  pomegranates  and  olives  in  the  beautiful 
pleasure  gardens  that  covered  the  mountain — to  the 
delight  of  Solomon.  But  you,  Golgotha,  remained  a 
barren  hill  without  the  city  wall.  You  were  so  poor  and 
unfruitful  that  no  rich  man  of  Solomon's  day  would  in 
clude  you  among  his  pleasure  gardens,  and  no  poor  man 
would  plant  on  you  even  a  vine." 

At  this  fresh  attack,  the  adversary  took  courage  and 
spoke  up.  "You  seem  to  forget  that  at  that  time  some 
thing  happened  which  foreshadowed  Golgotha's  coming 


16  THE  HOLY  CITY 

glory.  For  it  was  then  the  Queen  of  Sheba  paid  a  visit  to 
King  Solomon,  who  received  her  at  his  palace,  called 
the  House  of  the  Forest  of  Lebanon,  because  it  was  built 
of  timber  brought  from  distant  Lebanon.  When  Solo 
mon  showed  the  Arabian  Queen  this  magnificent  struc 
ture,  whose  like  she  had  never  beheld,  she  chanced  to 
notice  a  post  in  the  wall  of  uncommon  thickness.  This 
post  was  made  from  three  tree-trunks  grown  together. 
The  heart  of  the  Queen  was  filled  with  trepidation  on 
finding  that  this  tree  had  been  brought  to  the  King's 
palace,  and  she  hastened  to  tell  him  its  story.  'After  our 
First  Parents  had  been  driven  out  from  the  beautiful 
Garden  of  Eden,'  she  said,  'the  angel  that  guarded  it 
once  allowed  Adam's  son  Seth  to  enter  therein,  that 
he  might  see  the  Tree  of  Life.  When  Seth  left  the  garden 
the  angel  gave  him  as  a  parting  gift  three  seeds  from  the 
wonderful  tree.  These  seeds  Seth  planted  on  Adam's 
grave,  at  Mount  Lebanon,  and  from  them  sprang  three 
stems  forming  a  single  tree.  It  was  this  tree,  O  Solomon, 
the  woodmen  of  King  Hiram  felled  for  thee,  and  which 
now  forms  part  of  thy  palace.  It  has  been  prophesied 
that  upon  this  tree  a  man  shall  die,  that  when  this 
comes  to  pass,  Jerusalem  will  fall  and  all  the  tribes 
of  Israel  will  be  scattered.'  The  Queen  of  Sheba  then 
prayed  the  King  to  destroy  the  tree,  in  order  to  prevent 
the  fulfillment  of  so  dire  a  prophecy.  The  King  at  once 
had  it  removed  from  the  wall  of  his  palace,  and  cast  into 
the  Pool  of  Bethesda." 

There  was  profound  silence  for  a  space.     The  woman 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       17 

thought  she  would  hear  no  more.  Then,  in  a  moment, 
the  voice  of  the  bell  spoke  again: 

"My  thoughts  turn  backward  to  a  time  of  great  tribu 
lation.  I  remember  when  the  Temple  was  destroyed  and 
when  the  people  were  carried  away  to  captivity.  Where 
was  thy  vaunted  glory  then,  O  Rock?" 

Instantly  came  the  response  from  the  Rock:  "Am  I 
not  everlasting?  Though  I  have  fallen  I  have  always  risen 
again.  Hast  forgotten  about  the  splendour  that  sur 
rounded  me  in  the  days  of  Herod  ?  Dost  remember  the 
three  courts  of  the  Temple,  the  fires  on  the  altar  of  burnt 
sacrifice  that  at  night  flamed  so  high  they  lighted  up 
the  whole  city  and  the  portico  called  Beautiful,  with  its 
hundred  pillars  of  porphyry?  Dost  remember  how  the 
sweet  odour  of  the  frankincense  rising  from  the  Temple 
was  wafted  on  a  western  wind  all  the  way  to  Jericho? 
Dost  remember  the  Babylonian  curtain,  interwoven  with 
roses  of  pure  gold,  that  hung  before  the  Holy  of  Holies?" 

"Verily,  I  remember  all  that,"  answered  the  voice 
from  the  Church  in  sharp  tones.  "  For  it  was  at  that  time 
Herod  caused  Bethesda  to  be  drained,  and  his  workmen 
found  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool  the  Tree  of  Life,  and  cast 
it  up  onto  the  edge." 

"Dost  remember  the  splendour  of  the  city,"  cried  the 
voice  of  the  Rock,  with  exultant  pride,  "when  the  princes 
and  people  of  Judah  dwelt  on  Zion,  and  when  Romans 
and  strangers  dwelt  in  the  district  of  Bezetha?  Dost 
remember  the  Castle  of  Mariamne  and  Castle  Antonia? 
Dost  remember  the  great  walls  and  battlements?" 


18  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"I  do,"  said  the  other  voice.  "And  I  remember  also 
it  was  at  that  time  the  good  counsellor  Joseph  of  Arima- 
thea  had  a  sepulchre  hewn  in  a  rock  in  his  garden,  which 
was  close  to  Golgotha." 

The  voice  of  the  Rock  now  trembled  a  little,  but  spoke 
without  hesitation.  "People  from  everywhere  came  to 
Jerusalem  for  the  great  feasts.  All  the  roads  of  Palestine 
•swarmed  with  travellers  and  the  hillsides  outside  the  Holy 
City  were  covered  with  tents.  Men  from  Rome,  from 
Athens,  from  Alexandria,  from  Damascus,  drew  hither 
to  view  the  beauties  of  the  city  and  its  Temple.  Dost 
remember  that  proud  Jerusalem?" 

The  voice  of  the  bell  responded  with  unbending  gravity: 
"I  remember  it  all.  It  was  then  the  soldiers  of  Pilate 
found  at  the  edge  of  the  Pool  of  Bethesda  the  Tree  of 
Life,  upon  which  a  Man  was  doomed  to  die." 

"Despised  and  rejected  you  have  ever  been,"  rang 
forth  scornfully  from  the  Mosque,  "though  up  to  that 
time  you  were  but  an  insignificant  spot  on  the  earth. 
The  Roman  soldiers  brought  you  into  shameful  prom 
inence  by  using  you  as  a  place  of  execution.  I  remember 
the  day  they  raised  three  crosses  on  you." 

"Accursed  be  I  should  I  ever  forget  that  day!"  came 
the  solemn  response  from  the  Church.  The  voice  of  the 
bell  seemed  now  to  be  accompanied  by  chancel  choirs. 
"I  remember  that  when  the  cross  hewn  from  the  Tree 
of  Life  was  planted  on  Golgotha  the  great  Feast  of  the 
Passover  took  place  on  Mount  Moriah.  The  Israelites, 
in  festal  attire,  entered  the  courts  of  the  Temple  bearing 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       19 

long  poles,  upon  which  hung  the  lambs  for  the  sacrifice; 
when  the  courts  were  overthronged  with  people  the  huge 
copper  gates  closed;  by  a  blast  of  trumpets  the  signal  was 
given  to  begin  the  celebration.  The  lambs  were  then 
hung  between  the  pillars  and  slaughtered;  priests  stand 
ing  in  line  caught  the  blood  of  the  sacrificial  lambs  in 
vessels  of  silver  and  gold.  So  much  blood  flowed  that 
the  stones  of  the  court  ran  red.  But  the  moment  the 
Crucified  died  on  Golgotha,  the  feast  of  sacrifice  in  the 
Temple  was  broken.  A  great  darkness  fell  upon  the 
sanctuary,  the  whole  structure  was  shaken  as  by  an 
earthquake.  The  Babylonian  curtain  was  rent  in  twain, 
as  a  sign  that  the  power  and  the  glory  and  the  sanctity 
had  passed  from  Moriah  to  Golgotha." 

"Golgotha  was  also  shaken  by  the  earthquake,"  the 
first  voice  interposed.  "The  whole  mountain  was  rent." 

"Yea,  verily,"  came  the  response  in  full  chantlike 
tones,  "there  was  a  great  rent  in  the  rock  of  Golgotha! 
and  through  it  the  blood  from  the  Cross  flowed  down  into 
the  grave  in  the  rock,  thus  making  known  to  the  First 
Sinner  and  the  First  High  Priest  the  consummation  of  the 
Atonement." 

At  that  moment  the  Church  sent  forth  a  succession  of 
deafening  peals,  while  from  the  minaret  of  the  Mosque 
went  up  one  of  those  long  plaintive  cries  that  call  the 
faithful  to  prayer.  The  woman  knew  from  this  that 
one  of  the  holy  hours  of  the  night  had  struck;  but  com 
ing,  as  it  did,  so  close  upon  the  discourse  on  the  Cruci 
fixion,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  two  old  voices  had 


20  THE  HOLY  CITY 

taken  this  occasion  to  give  vent  to  their  pride  and  their 
humiliation. 

This  noise  had  barely  subsided,  when  the  Rock,  in  a 
solemn  voice,  began  again:  "I  am  the  Eternal  Rock,  but 
what  is  Golgotha?  I  am  what  I  am  and  all  know  where 
to  find  me,  but  where  is  Golgotha  ?  Where  is  the  mound 
on  which  the  cross  was  raised?  No  one  knows.  And 
where  is  the  tomb  in  which  Jesus  was  laid?  None  can 
with  certainty  point  out  the  spot." 

Instantly  came  the  rebuke  from  Golgotha:  "Must  you 
also  come  with  these  imputations!  You  should  know 
better,  for  you  are  old  enough  to  remember  where  Gol 
gotha  lies.  These  thousands  of  years  you  have  seen 
the  hill  in  its  place,  near  the  Gate  of  Righteousness." 

"I  am  indeed  old,  very,  very  old,"  said  the  Rock. 
"But  you  have  observed  that  the  old  have  a  poor  mem 
ory.  There  were  many  barren  hills  outside  Jerusalem; 
so  how  should  I  be  able  to  remember  which  was  Gol 
gotha  ?  As  there  are  countless  numbers  of  graves  in  the 
rocks,  how  can  I  know  which  is  the  right  one?" 

The  woman  was  fast  losing  patience.  She  felt  half- 
tempted  to  chime  in.  Did  these  wonderful  voices  sound 
in  her  ear  only  to  repeat  old  sayings  she  had  heard  long 
ago?  She  longed  to  cry  out  that  they  should  reveal  to 
her  the  deep  mysteries  of  the  Kingdom  of  God,  but  the 
two  old  temples  had  not  a  thought  for  anything  but  their 
petty  dispute  over  which  was  the  greater  in  power  and 
sanctity. 

Even  the  voice  of  the  bell  sounded  impatient.     "It  is 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       21 

tiresome  having  to  refute,  over  and  over  again,  this 
charge  that  I  am  not  what  I  claim  to  be,"  it  seemed  to 
say.  "You  must  remember  that  even  the  Early  Christians 
were  wont  to  visit  me,  to  revive  memories  of  the  great 
events  which  had  taken  place  on  and  around  Golgotha." 

"That  may  be  true  enough,"  replied  the  voice  of  the 
Rock,  "but  I  am  almost  certain  the  Christians  lost  sight 
of  you  among  the  new  streets  and  houses,  when  the  city 
was  extended  and  Herod  Antipas  built  the  new  wall 
around  it." 

"They  did  not  lose  sight  of  me,"  answered  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  "They  continued  to  gather  on 
Golgotha  up  to  the  time  of  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  when 
they  departed  the  city." 

To  this  there  was  no  response  from  the  voice  of  the 
Rock;  it  seemed  as  if  overcome  by  the  sorrowful  memo 
ries  thus  evoked. 

"Your  Temple  was  wholly  destroyed,"  cried  the  voice 
of  the  Church;  "the  sacred  site  was  a  mass  of  ruins.  For 
six  centuries,  0  Rock,  you  lay  buried  beneath  dust  and 
ashes." 

"What  are  a  few  centuries  to  me?"  spoke  the  ancient 
voice.  "There  has  never  been  doubt  as  to  my  place,  but 
about  you  they  are  forever  disputing. " 

"How  can  there  be  any  question  as  to  where  I  stand, 
when  a  miracle  of  God  brought  me  to  light  again?"  an 
swered  the  Church.  "Hast  forgotten  that  the  Empress 
Helena,  who  was  a  Christian  and  a  saint,  received  in  a 
dream  a  command  from  God  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land  and 


22  THE  HOLY  CITY 

build  shrines  on  its  sacred  sites.  How  well  do  I  recall  the 
day  the  Empress,  with  her  retinue  of  pious  and  learned 
men,  came  to  Jerusalem!  At  that  time  there  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  city  a  temple  of  Venus,  which  had  been 
erected  by  Emperor  Hadrian  on  a  spot  sacred  to  the  Chris 
tians.  This  temple  was  pulled  down  by  order  of  Empress 
Helena.  It  was  found  to  have  been  built  upon  Gol 
gotha.  Under  the  foundation  stones  were  found  intact — 
and  thus  preserved  to  posterity — the  Holy  Sepulchre  and 
the  Rock  of  Golgotha,  with  Melchisedek's  grave  and  the 
rent,  through  which  it  was  said  that  blood  still  flowed. 
They  found  the  Stone  of  Unction  and " 

The  voice  of  the  Church  was  interrupted  by  a  derisive 
laugh,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  Mosque. 

"Hear  the  final  and  most  conclusive  proof,"  continued 
the  voice  of  the  Church,  undaunted.  "The  Empress 
wished  above  everything  to  find  the  Holy  Cross.  After 
a  long  and  futile  search,  when  she  had  almost  given  up 
hope,  there  came  to  her  one  day  an  old  and  wise  man, 
who  told  her  the  Cross  had  been  buried  deep  in  the 
ground.  The  old  man  pointed  out  the  place.  The 
workmen  had  to  dig  far  down,  for  the  Cross  had  been 
thrown  into  a  moat,  which  was  filled  in  with  earth  and 
stone.  I  still  remember  the  pious  Empress  sitting  at 
the  edge  of  the  moat  encouraging  her  men !  And  I  also 
remember  the  day  they  found  the  Cross  at  the  bottom. 
Many  miracles  followed  upon  the  recovery  of  the  Cross. 
I  doubt  that  even  you  dare  deny  them,  for  you  have 
heard  the  joyful  shouts  of  the  sick  who  were  healed  on 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE       23 

beholding  this  sacred  relic.  And  think  of  the  hosts  of 
pilgrims  that  came  hither  from  every  land,  and  the 
convents  and  churches  that  sprang  up,  as  it  were,  out  of 
the  ground!  Or  have  you  forgotten,  O  Rock,  the  splen 
did  structures  which  Constantine  and  his  mother  caused 
to  be  raised?  On  the  spot  where  the  Cross  was  found  a 
Basilica  was  built,  and  over  the  rock  cave  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  was  erected  a  beautiful  circular  church.  Dost 
remember  the  long  trains  of  caravans  winding  across 
the  hills  laden  with  gold  and  many  kinds  of  costly  stone 
to  be  used  for  the  ornamentation  of  the  church  ?  Dost 
remember  the  pillars  of  porphyry,  with  their  capitals  of 
silver,  and  the  mosaic  arches  of  the  Church  of  the  Sepul 
chre?  Dost  remember  the  narrow  windows,  through 
which  light  streamed  mellowed  by  panes  of  stained  glass 
and  alabaster?  the  twin  columns?  and  the  fine  dome 
that  crowned  the  edifice?  At  the  heart  of  the  sanctuary, 
unadorned  amid  all  this  splendour,  was  the  cave  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre.  You  know  that  all  the  Christians 
of  the  East  looked  upon  Jerusalem  as  their  Holy  City,  and 
that  pilgrims  were  no  longer  the  only  people  who  gathered 
here.  Bishops  and  priests  came  and  built  themselves 
churches  and  palaces  near  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  You 
have  seen  the  patriarch  of  the  Armenians  establish  his 
hierarchy  here,  and  the  patriarchs  of  the  Greeks  and 
Assyrians  theirs.  You  have  seen  Copts  from  old 
Egypt  and  Abyssinians  from  the  heart  of  Africa  draw 
hither.  You  have  seen  Jerusalem  rebuilt  as  a  city  of 
churches  and  cloisters,  of  hospices  and  missions.  You 


24  THE  HOLY  CITY 

know  that  its  glory  became  greater  than  ever  before. 
But  all  this  was  my  work,  O  Rock!  At  that  time  you  lay 
unnoticed  and  forgotten  under  a  heap  of  ashes. " 

Thus  challenged,  the  sanctuary  of  the  Rock  answered: 
"What  are  a  few  short  years  of  humiliation  to  me!  After 
all,  I  am  what  I  am.  Some  hundreds  of  years  slipped  by, 
and  then  one  night  there  came  to  me  a  venerable  man 
in  the  striped  mantel  of  the  Bedouin,  his  head  covered 
with  a  turban  of  camel's  hair.  That  man  was  Mahomet, 
Prophet  of  God,  who  living  ascended  into  Heaven.  His 
left  foot  rested  upon  my  crown  just  before  he  was  trans 
lated,  and  I,  by  my  own  strength,  rose  several  feet  from 
the  earth  in  my  yearning  to  follow  him.  I  raised  myself 
above  dust  and  ashes.  I  am  that  which  is  forever  fixed." 

"You  forsook  your  own  people,  you  traitor!"  cried  the 
Church.  "You  helped  put  false  believers  in  power." 

"I  have  no  people,  and  serve  none.  I  am  the  Eternal 
Rock.  He  who  worships  me,  him  I  protect.  There 
came  a  day  when  Omar  made  his  entry  into  Jerusalem. 
The  great  Caliph  at  once  began  to  clear  the  Temple 
place,  himself  taking  a  basket  of  remnants  on  his  head 
and  carrying  it  away.  And  then  the  followers  of  Omar 
erected  upon  me  the  most  glorious  edifice  the  East  has 


ever  seen/ 


"Yes,  the  building  is  beautiful,"  rang  the  voice  of  the 
bell.  "But  do  you  know  what  it  is?  Think  you  that  I 
do  not  recognize  that  fine  mosaic  dome,  those  mosaic 
arches  and  those  marble  walls,  within  which  you  repose 
in  unadorned  simplicity,  as  the  Holy  Sepulchre  once 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE      25 

rested  in  the  church  of  Saint  Helena?  Your  mosque  is 
patterned  after  the  first  Church  of  the  Sepulchre. " 

The  woman  grew  more  and  more  disheartened;  the 
contentions  of  the  two  sanctuaries  seemed  to  her  both 
mean  and  deplorable.  They  had  not  a  thought  for  the 
two  great  religions  they  stood  for,  but  only  boasted  about 
their  buildings. 

"I  remember  many  things,"  said  the  Mosque,  "but  I 
do  not  recall  having  seen  the  beautiful  Church  of  the 
Sepulchre  of  which  you  speak." 

"Verily,  it  once  stood  on  Golgotha,  but  enemies  soon 
destroyed  it.  It  was  rebuilt  and  again  destroyed." 

"There  were  many  buildings  on  Golgotha,  both  large 
and  small,  which  were  said  to  be  holy,"  spoke  the  voice 
of  the  Rock.  "They  were  poor  and  dilapidated  structures, 
where  the  rains  came  in  through  holes  in  the  roofs." 

"Yes,  truly,"  answered  the  Church.  "That  was  your 
time — a  time  of  darkness.  But  I  can  say  with  you,  what 
are  a  few  years  of  humiliation  to  me  ?  I  have  seen  all  the 
Western  World  rise  to  help  me.  I  have  seen  Jerusalem 
conquered  by  men  of  Europe  who  came  here  because  of 
me.  I  have  seen  your  mosque  transformed  into  a  Chris 
tian  church  and  crusaders  build  an  altar  upon  you,  O 
Rock.  I  have  seen  Knights  of  the  Cross  lead  their  horses 
under  the  arches  of  your  temple." 

The  old  Rock  lifted  up  its  voice  and  sang  as  a  dervish 
would  sing  on  the  desert,  but  it  could  not  stem  the  flow 
of  words  issuing  from  the  Church. 

"  I  remember  how  the  Knights  from  the  West  took  off 


26  THE  HOLY  CITY 

their  coats  of  mail,  and,  as  masons,  seized  mallets  and 
trowels  and  set  to  work  rebuilding  the  Church  of  the 
Sepulchre.  They  made  it  large  enough  to  hold  all  the 
holy  places  and  covered  the  gray  sepulchre  with  white 
marble,  both  outside  and  in." 

"What  matters  it  that  you  were  built  by  Crusaders?" 
the  first  voice  said.  "You  are  again  fallen  into  decay." 

"I  am  filled  with  sacred  relics  and  holy  spots!"  cried 
the  Church  of  the  Sepulchre,  exultingly.  "Within  my 
walls  may  be  seen  the  olive  shrub  in  which  Abraham 
found  the  ram,  and  the  chapel  where  Adam's  skull  is 
enshrined.  I  can  point  to  Golgotha;  to  the  tomb;  to 
the  stone  where  the  angel  was  seated  when  the  women 
came  to  weep  over  the  dead.  Within  my  walls  is  the  spot 
where  the  Cross  was  found.  I  have  the  pillar  by  which 
the  Crucified  stood  when  He  was  crowned  with  thorns, 
and  the  sword  of  Godfrey  of  Boulogne.  I  am  still  wor 
shipped  by  Copts  and  Abyssinians,  by  Armenians  and 
Jacobites,  by  Greeks  and  Romans.  I  am  crowded  with 
pilgrims " 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  mound!  you  sepulchre!  the 
place  of  which  no  one  knows,"  thundered  the  old  voice. 
"Would  you  compare  your  potency  to  that  of  the  Eternal 
Rock?  Upon  me  is  inscribed  Jehovah's  Most  Holy, 
unutterable  Name,  which  none  save  Christ  has  been  able 
to  interpret.  To  the  court  of  my  Temple  Mahomet  shall 
descend  on  the  Last  Day." 

As  the  quarrel  of  the  churches  increased  in  violence, 
the  woman  rose  to  her  feet;  she  forgot  for  the  moment 


THE  HOLY  ROCK  AND  SEPULCHRE      27 

that  her  voice  was  too  weak  to  be  heard  above  these  two 
mighty  voices. 

"Woe  unto  you!"  she  cried  out.  "What  kind  of  holy 
temples  are  you?  You  strive  and  contend,  and  because 
of  your  dissensions  the  world  is  filled  with  unrest,  and 
hatred,  and  persecution.  Hear  this:  God's  last  word 
to  mankind  is  Unity.  God's  last  edict,  which  I  have 
heard,  spells  unity  of  the  Spirit." 

When  these  words  were  spoken  the  voice  of  the  Rock 
and  the  voice  of  the  Sepulchre  were  mute.  For  an 
instant  the  woman  wondered  if  her  utterances  had 
silenced  them;  and  then  she  noticed  that  all  the  crosses 
and  all  the  crescents  on  the  great  domes  of  the  Holy  City 
began  to  shimmer  and  shine.  The  sun  rose  above  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  voices  of  the  night  were  stilled. 


BOOK  ONE 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON 

AONG  those  who  had  belonged  to  Helgum's 
community  in  America  and  had  gone  with  their 
leader  to  Jerusalem  were  three  members  of  the 
old  Ingmarsson  family.  They  were  the  two  daughters  of 
Big  Ingmar  who  went  to  America  soon  after  their  father's 
death,  and  their  cousin  Bo  Ingmar  Mansson,  a  young  man 
who  had  spent  two  or  three  years  in  the  United  States. 

Bo  was  a  tall,  well  built,  blond-haired  youth,  with  a 
fine  countenance.  There  was  very  little  about  his  general 
appearance  that  was  like  the  old  Ingmars,  but  the  family 
traits  showed  themselves  when  he  had  some  difficult  work 
in  hand,  or  was  deeply  stirred. 

When  as  a  lad  Bo  had  attended  Storm's  School,  he  was 
thought  to  be  dull  and  slow.  The  schoolmaster  had 
often  wondered  how  one  who  came  of  such  intelligent 
people  could  be  so  dense.  All  this  disappeared,  however, 
when  Bo  was  in  America.  Over  there  he  proved  to  be 
both  clever  and  resourceful;  but  in  his  childhood  he  had 
so  often  been  called  a  dunce,  that  there  still  clung  to  him  a 
certain  diffidence  and  lack  of  self-confidence. 

The  people  of  his  home  parish  were  not  a  little  surprised 
when  Bo  betook  himself  to  America!  His  parents,  who 
were  well-to-do  farmers,  would  have  liked  to  keep  their 

31 


32  THE  HOLY  CITY 

son  at  home.  It  had  been  whispered  about  that  Bo  was 
in  love  with  the  schoolmaster's  daughter,  Gertrude, 
and  had  gone  away  to  forget  her,  but  nobody  really  knew 
the  right  of  it.  Bo  had  never  made  a  confidant  of  anyone 
except  his  mother,  who,  it  seems,  was  not  a  sister  of  Big 
Ingmar  for  nothing!  She  could  not  be  tempted  to  say  a 
word  more  than  she  wanted  to  say. 

The  day  Bo  left  for  America  his  mother  gave  him  a 
belt,  into  which  she  had  sewn  some  money,  and  asked  him 
to  wear  it  next  his  body.  "  Promise  me  never  to  part  with 
this  belt  unless  you  come  to  want,"  his  mother  had  said. 
"It  is  not  a  large  sum  I'm  giving  you — only  enough  to 
take  you  home  again  in  case  you  can't  make  your  way 
over  there." 

Bo  promised  not  to  touch  the  money  in  the  belt,  and 
he  faithfully  kept  his  word.  True,  he  had  not  been  sorely 
tempted  to  use  the  money,  as  on  the  whole  he  had  done 
rather  well  in  America.  Once  or  twice,  however,  when 
out  of  work,  he  had  gone  hungry  and  been  without  a  place 
to  lay  his  head;  yet  he  had  always  found  a  way  out  of 
his  difficulty,  without  touching  his  mother's  money. 

When  Bo  joined  the  Helgumists  he  was  a  little  con 
cerned  at  first  as  to  what  he  should  do  with  the  belt.  His 
new  friends  tried  to  follow  the  example  of  the  Early  Chris 
tians;  they  shared  their  possessions  with  one  another  and 
gave  all  their  earnings  to  the  common  fund.  Bo  also 
gave  up  all  he  had,  save  what  was  in  the  belt.  He  could 
not  determine  what  was  right  or  what  was  wrong  in  a  case 
like  this;  but  something  told  him  not  to  part  with  this 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON  33 

money.  And  he  felt  very  sure  Our  Lord  would  under 
stand  it  was  not  from  meanness  that  he  withheld  it,  but 
because  he  was  in  duty  bound  to  keep  the  promise  made  to 
his  mother. 

He  kept  the  belt  even  after  he  had  joined  the  Gordon- 
ites,  though  the  thought  of  it  troubled  him  now.  Bo 
soon  learned  to  know  Mrs.  Gordon  and  her  helpers,  and 
revered  them  for  their  goodness  and  self-sacrifice.  He 
wondered  what  these  people  would  think  of  him  if  they 
knew  that  he  was  secretly  carrying  money  about  with  him, 
although  he  had  solemnly  promised  to  give  all  he  had  to 
the  colony. 

Helgum  and  his  followers  had  come  to  Jerusalem  early 
in  May,  just  at  the  time  when  the  peasants  in  his  home 
parish,  in  Dalecarlia,  were  selling  their  farms.  In  June 
word  came  by  letter  that  the  Ingmar  Farm  had  been  sold, 
and  that  Ingmar  Ingmarsson  had  given  up  Gertrude  in 
order  to  get  back  the  old  ancestral  home. 

Until  then  Bo  had  been  very  happy  in  Jerusalem  and 
had  often  expressed  his  joy  at  being  there.  But  from  the 
day  he  learned  that  Gertrude  was  free  he  became  gloomy 
and  taciturn. 

No  one  knew  what  had  made  Bo  so  low-spirited.  Some 
of  the  brethren  tried  to  make  him  confide  in  them,  but 
he  would  not  tell  anybody  what  was  troubling  him.  He 
could  not  turn  to  the  colonists  for  sympathy  in  an  affair 
of  the  heart,  as  they  were  always  preaching  that,  for 
the  sake  of  unity,  one  must  not  love  one  person  more  than 
another,  and  averred  they  loved  everybody  equally  well. 


34  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Had  they  not  all,  Bo  included,  vowed  never  to  marry, 
but  to  live  in  chastity,  as  do  monks  and  nuns? 

Bo  never  for  a  second  thought  of  his  vow  after  hearing 
that  Gertrude  was  free.  He  wanted  to  sever  his  connec 
tion  with  the  colony  at  once,  and  go  home  to  pay  court  to 
her.  Now  he  was  very  glad  he  had  kept  the  money-belt, 
and  could  leave  for  Sweden  whenever  he  wished. 

The  first  few  days  he  went  about  in  a  daze,  with  only 
one  thought  in  his  head — to  find  out  when  there  was  a 
steamer  leaving  Jaffa;  but  it  happened  that  no  ship  was 
to  sail  from  that  port  just  then.  All  at  once  it  dawned 
on  Bo  that  for  the  sake  of  appearances  it  would  be  better 
to  put  off  the  journey  for  a  while.  If  he  went  back  now, 
he  thought,  the  whole  parish  would  know  it  was  because 
of  Gertrude;  and  should  he  fail  to  win  her,  people  would 
only  laugh  at  him. 

Just  at  that  time  Bo  had  agreed  to  do  some  masonry 
work  for  the  colonists,  who  had  recently  rented  a  big 
house  outside  the  Damascus  gate,  in  anticipation  of  the 
arrival  of  the  Swedish  peasants,  and  were  therefore  busy 
putting  the  house  in  order.  He  had  been  assigned  the 
task  of  building  a  bake-oven,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
be  patient,  and  not  to  go  until  this  work  was  completed. 

But  all  the  while  Bo  longed  to  get  away,  and  now  Jeru 
salem  was  to  him  hardly  better  than  a  prison.  At  night, 
in  his  room,  he  would  take  off  his  belt  and  finger  the 
coins  through  the  fabric.  As  he  did  so,  he  could  see  Ger 
trude  as  it  were  before  him,  and  he  would  forget  that 
she  had  never  taken  the  slightest  notice  of  him.  He 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON  35 

felt  quite  sure  he  had  only  to  go  home  to  make  her  his 
wife.  When  Ingmar  had  proved  so  false,  surely  Gertrude 
must  in  the  end  come  to  love  him,  who  had  always  loved 
her. 

Bo  found  it  dreadfully  slow  work  building  that  oven! 
Either  he  was  not  a  skilled  mason  or  his  bricks  and  mortar 
were  poor.  He  began  to  think  he  would  never  be  able  to 
finish  it.  Once  the  arch  caved  in,  and  once  he  laid  his 
bricks  so  irregularly  that  the  smoke  blew  into  the  bakery 
instead  of  going  up  the  chimney. 

Consequently,  he  was  not  ready  to  start  until  the  middle 
of  August.  *  In  the  meantime  he  saw  much  of  the  Gor-i 
donites,  and  their  life,  and  thought  better  and  better 
of  them.  Never  had  he  seen  people  devote  themselves 
so  untiringly  to  the  service  of  the  sick,  the  poor,  the  sor 
rowing.  They  did  not  yearn  for  the  things  of  this  world, 
although  some  of  them  were  rich  enough  to  have  gratified 
their  every  wish,  while  others  were  so  learned  that  there 
was  scarcely  anything  under  the  sun  they  did  not  know 
about.  Every  day  they  held  beautiful  meetings,  at  which 
they  explained  their  teachings  to  the  newcomers.  When 
Bo  heard  them  speak,  he  thought  it  so  great  a  privilege 
to  be  allowed  to  take  part  in  the  revival  of  the  true 
Christianity,  which  had  lain  dormant  and  well  nigh  for 
gotten  for  nearly  two  thousand  years,  that  he  wanted  to 
remain  in  Jerusalem. 

But  at  night,  when  Bo  sat  with  the  belt  in  his  hands, 
his  longing  for  Gertrude  mastered  him.  Then,  if  he  hap 
pened  to  think  that  his  going  would  deprive  him  of  any 


36  THE  HOLY  CITY 

part  in  the  restoration  of  the  only  true  Christianity,  he 
said  to  himself  that  there  were  so  many  others  to  carry 
out  this  work,  who  were  far  more  worthy  than  he  was,  it 
would  be  a  small  loss  if  a  poor  wretch  like  him  left  the 
colony. 

What  Bo  dreaded  was  the  moment  when  he  would  have 
to  stand  up  in  meeting  and  tell  the  brethren  he  had  de 
cided  to  go  home.  He  shuddered  at  the  thought  that 
Mrs.  Gordon,  and  old  Miss  Hoggs,  and  beautiful  Miss 
Young,  and  Helgum,  and  his  own  cousins — these  people 
whose  only  desire  was  to  serve  God — would  look  upon  him 
as  lost.  And  what  would  God  Himself  think  of  his  de 
serting?  Perhaps  he  was  forfeiting  his  soul's  salvation 
by  abandoning  this  great  cause. 

He  felt  now  that  he  had  done  wrong  in  keeping  his 
mother's  money.  But  for  that  belt  he  would  have  been 
spared  this  sore  temptation  to  run  away. 

The  colonists  were  at  that  time  very  short  of  funds, 
due  in  part  to  the  cost  of  moving  into  larger  quarters, 
and  in  part  to  a  lawsuit  that  had  been  brought  against 
them  in  America.  Besides,  there  were  many  of  Jerusa 
lem's  poor  who  constantly  appealed  to  them  for  aid.  As 
they  never  took  pay  for  their  work,  believing,  as  they 
did,  that  money  was  the  cause  of  all  the  dissension  in  the 
world,  it  was  not  surprising  that  they  were  often  in  hard 
straits.  Sometimes,  when  the  expected  remittances  from 
America  were  overdue,  they  had  not  sufficient  for  the  day. 
The  colonists  were  frequently  on  their  knees  imploring  God 
for  help.  At  such  times  Bo  felt  as  if  the  belt  burned  him. 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON  37 

Yet  his  longing  for  Gertrude  was  so  intense  that  he  could 
not  think  of  giving  up  the  money.  Anyhow,  it  was  too 
late  now,  he  told  himself;  he  could  not  confess  that  he 
had  been  carrying  gold  about  him  during  these  times 
of  need. 

Bo's  oven  was  finished  at  last,  and  he  wanted  to  leave 
by  the  first  steamer.  So  one  day  he  betook  himself  to  a 
secluded  spot,  and  ripped  the  belt  open.  Sitting  with 
the  gold  pieces  in  his  hands,  he  felt  like  a  criminal.  "O 
God,  forgive  me!"  he  gasped.  "Had  I  ever  dreamed  that 
Gertrude  would  some  day  be  free,  I  would  not  have 
joined  these  people." 

On  his  way  to  the  city  Bo  imagined  someone  was  fol 
lowing  him,  and  when  he  laid  a  few  of  his  gold  pieces  on 
the  counter  at  a  money  changer's  in  David  Street,  he 
looked  so  guilty  that  the  Armenian  who  weighed  his  gold, 
thinking  him  a  thief,  gave  him  less  than  half  value  in 
exchange. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  stole  away  from  the  colony, 
walking  eastward  toward  the  Mount  of  Olives — so  that 
anyone  meeting  him  would  not  suspect  where  he  was 
going — taking  a  roundabout  way  to  the  railway  station. 

He  reached  the  station  an  hour  before  train-time,  and 
waited  in  an  agony  of  suspense.  He  started  every  time 
someone  went  past  him,  and  tried  in  vain  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  had  not  acted  wrongly;  that  he  was  a  free 
man  and  could  go  where  he  liked.  He  saw  now  that  it 
would  have  been  better  for  him  if  he  had  spoken  frankly 
with  his  friends  the  colonists,  instead  of  sneaking  away 


38  THE  HOLY  CITY 

from  them  like  this.  He  was  so  unhappy  that  he  wanted 
to  turn  back. 

Nevertheless  Bo  left  by  the  train.  The  carriages  were 
crowded,  but  he  saw  no  one  he  knew.  His  mind  was  on 
the  letters  that  must  be  written  to  Mrs.  Gordon  and 
Helgum — he  seemed  to  hear  them  read  aloud  to  the 
brethren  after  morning  prayers,  and  to  see  contempt 
depicted  on  every  face.  "I'm  doing  a  dreadful  thing!" 
he  told  himself.  "I  am  putting  a  blot  upon  my  character 
that  can  never  be  effaced."  His  running  away  appeared 
more  and  more  reprehensible.  He  hated  himself  for 
being  a  miserable  coward. 

Bo  left  the  train  at  Jaffa.  Crossing  the  sun-baked 
square  in  front  of  the  station,  he  came  upon  a  company 
of  poor  Roumanian  pilgrims  and  stood  a  moment  look 
ing  at  them.  A  Syrian  dragoman  told  him  that  these 
people  were  very  ill  when  they  landed  from  the  ship 
that  brought  them  to  Jaffa,  and  had  been  lying  out  in 
the  hot  sun  all  day.  They  had  intended  to  go  on  foot  to 
Jerusalem,  but  were  now  unable  to  move.  The  drago 
man  feared  they  would  die  unless  some  one  cared  for 
them. 

Bo  hurried  away  from  the  station;  but  he  could  not 
shut  out  the  sight  of  the  fever-stricken  pilgrims,  some 
of  whom  were  too  helpless  to  even  brush  away  the  flies 
that  crawled  over  their  eyes.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  God 
had  sent  these  poor  people  in  Bo's  way,  that  he  might 
help  them.  Bo  knew  that  not  another  member  of  the 
colony  would  have  passed  by  these  sufferers  without 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON  39 

trying  to  succor  them.  And  he,  too,  would  have  come 
to  their  aid,  had  he  not  been  such  a  selfish  wretch.  Just 
because  he  had  money  and  could  go  home  to  Sweden  he 
no  longer  wished  to  serve  his  fellowmen. 

Passing  through  the  city  gate,  he  went  on  till  he  came  to 
a  little  square  on  the  water-front.  Before  him  lay  the  open 
sea,  now  smooth  and  silvery-blue,  save  round  the  two 
black  rocks  of  basalt  at  the  entrance  to  the  harbour — 
where  there  was  a  slight  ground-swell.  It  was  a  perfect 
day  to  set  out  on  a  journey.  In  the  roads  lay  a  big 
European  liner  flying  the  German  flag.  He  had  wanted 
to  take  passage  on  a  French  ship  that  was  due  to  arrive 
at  Jaffa  that  day,  but  seeing  no  sign  of  her  he  decided  not 
to  wait. 

The  German  steamship  had  just  arrived.  A  swarm 
of  ferrymen  hurriedly  got  their  dingeys  ready  to  row  out 
for  the  passengers.  In  their  eagerness  to  be  first,  they 
hooted  and  shrieked  and  threatened  each  other  with 
the  oars.  Then,  in  a  moment,  nearly  a  score  of  boats 
put  out — all  at  the  same  time.  The  big  brawny  oarsmen 
rowed  standing,  to  make  better  speed.  At  first  they 
proceeded  rather  cautiously,  until  they  had  got  past  the 
two  dangerous  rocks,  when  a  sharp  race  began.  Bo 
from  the  shore  heard  the  men  laughing  and  shouting,  as 
they  vied  with  each  other. 

He  wanted  to  be  off  at  once.  It  was  all  the  same  to 
him  which  steamer  he  took,  just  so  he  reached  Sweden. 
His  eye  lit  upon  a  small  dingey,  in  which  sat  an  old  ferry 
man,  who  had  not  been  able  to  set  out  with  the  others. 


40  THE  HOLY  CITY 

It  seemed  to  Bo  that  the  dingey  had  been  held  back  for 
him;  he  jumped  in,  and  they  pulled  away  at  once. 

At  first  Bo  was  glad  to  be  off,  but  before  they  had  gone 
half  a  dozen  boatlengths  he  was  seized  with  a  terrible 
dread.  What  would  he  say  to  his  mother?  he  wondered. 
Could  he  tell  her  that  he  had  used  her  money  to  bring 
down  upon  himself  everlasting  contempt  and  disgrace  ? 

He  saw  before  him  his  mother's  deep-lined  face,  with 
its  firm  chin.  He  remembered  that  she  had  a  way  of 
coming  close  up  to  a  person  she  was  talking  to,  and  look 
ing  him  straight  in  the  eye.  If  his  mother  were  with  him 
now,  she  would  come  very  near,  and  say,  "  Did  you  prom 
ise  to  stay  with  those  people,  Bo,  and  help  them  in  their 
good  work?"  And  he  would  have  to  answer,  "Yes, 
Mother."  "Then  you  must  keep  your  word,"  she 
would  be  sure  to  say, — "it's  quite  enough  with  one  prom 
ise-breaker  in  the  family." 

Bo  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  It  was  plain  now  that  he  could 
not  go  home  to  his  mother,  with  dishonour  attached  to  his 
name;  his  only  course  was  to  return  to  the  colony. 

He  ordered  the  boatman  to  turn  back.  The  man, 
not  understanding,  kept  on  rowing  toward  the  steamer. 
Suddenly  Bo  sprang  to  his  feet  and  tried  to  seize  the  oars. 
In  the  struggle,  the  two  men  nearly  upset  the  boat. 
There  was  nothing  for  Bo  but  to  sit  down  again,  and  let 
the  man  take  him  as  far  as  the  steamer.  At  the  same 
time  he  grew  fearful  lest  the  strength  of  will  to  turn  back 
might  slip  away  from  him.  "If  I  board  the  ship  perhaps 
the  longing  for  Gertrude  may  again  get  the  better  of  me," 


BO  INGMAR  MANSSON  41 

he  thought.  "No,  no,  that  must  not  happen!"  Deter 
mined  to  be  done  with  this  temptation  forever,  he  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  pocket,  drew  forth  the  gold  pieces,  and 
flung  them  into  the  sea. 

Immediately  he  felt  a  pang  of  regret.  "Ah!  now  I 
have  thrown  my  hope  of  happiness  away — have  lost  Ger 
trude  for  all  time!" 

When  they  had  rowed  some  minutes  longer,  they  met 
a  couple  of  boats,  returning  from  the  ship,  that  were  filled 
with  passengers  to  be  landed  at  Jaffa. 

Bo  rubbed  his  eyes.  He  thought  he  must  be  dreaming. 
It  was  as  if  two  of  the  church-boats,  which  on  a  Sunday 
were  seen  coming  down  the  river  at  home  in  Dalecarlia, 
came  gliding  toward  him  on  the  smooth  summer  sea. 
The  people  in  these  boats  looked  as  solemn  and  as  serious 
as  did  the  folk  of  his  home  parish,  when  the  long  boats 
laid  to  at  the  landing  stage  below  the  church  knoll. 

For  a  moment  Bo  could  hardly  take  in  what  he  saw. 
"Isn't  that  Tims  Halvor  over  there?"  he  asked  himself, 
"and  isn't  that  Big  Ingmar's  daughter  Karin,  and  that 
Birger  Larsson,  whom  I  have  so  often  seen  standing  in 
the  smithy  by  the  roadside  forging  nails?" 

Bo  had  been  so  wrapt  in  his  own  musings  that  it  was 
some  little  time  before  it  dawned  on  him  that  these  were 
the  pilgrims  from  Dalecarlia,  arriving  a  day  or  two  earlier 
than  they  were  expected. 

He  stood  up  and  waved  his  hands,  shouting  "Good 
day  to  you!"  One  after  another  the  silent  people  in 
the  boats  looked  up,  and  moved  their  heads  a  little  to 


42  THE  HOLY  CITY 

show  they  recognized  him.  Bo  realized  at  once  that  he 
should  not  have  disturbed  them  at  such  a  moment. 
They  could  not  think  of  anything  just  then  but  the 
solemn  advent  of  setting  foot  upon  the  sacred  soil  of 
Palestine. 

Never  had  anything  appeared  more  beautiful  to  Bo 
than  the  sight  of  those  stern,  rugged  faces;  he  was  rilled 
with  both  joy  and  regret.  "Ah,  these  are  the  kind  of 
people  that  we  have  at  home!"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
his  longing  for  the  old  life  and  the  old  scenes  became 
so  overpowering  that  he  wanted  to  jump  into  the  sea, 
to  get  back  his  gold. 

In  the  stern  of  one  boat  sat  a  woman  who  wore  her 
kerchief  drawn  so  far  down  over  her  eyes  that  he  could 
not  see  her  face;  but  just  as  her  boat  passed  his  the 
woman  pushed  back  her  kerchief,  and  glanced  up  at  him. 

It  was  Gertrude. 

Bo,  overwhelmed  with  joy,  trembled  from  head  to 
foot.  He  had  to  sit  down  and  grasp  hold  of  the  seat,  to 
keep  from  leaping  into  the  sea  in  order  to  reach  Gertrude 
the  sooner.  With  tears  streaming  down  his  face,  he 
folded  his  hands  and  gave  thanks  to  God.  Never  was 
man  so  well  repaid  for  resisting  temptation;  never  had 
God  been  so  good  to  any  man. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  CROSS 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  CROSS 

DURING  the  many  years  the  Gordon  Colony  had 
been  in  existence  in  Jerusalem  there  had  appeared 
every  day  in  the  streets  of  the  Holy  City  a  man 
carrying  a  rough,  heavy  wooden  cross.  The  man  never 
spoke  to  anyone,  nor  did  anyone  speak  to  him.  Nobody 
knew  whether  he  was  some  poor  demented  creature  who 
believed  himself  to  be  the  Christ,  or  just  a  pilgrim  doing 
penance. 

The  poor  cross-bearer  slept  at  night  in  a  grotto  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  but  every  morning  at  sunrise  he  could 
be  seen  standing  at  the  summit  of  the  hill  looking  down 
upon  Jerusalem,  which  lay  on  the  heights  below.  His 
eager  glance  travelled  from  house  to  house,  from  dome  to 
dome,  as  if  he  expected  that  some  great  change  had  been 
wrought  over  night.  Then  when  he  found  that  all  was 
as  usual,  he  would  sigh  deeply  and  go  back  to  his  grotto. 
In  a  little  while  he  would  reappear  bearing  on  his  shoul 
ders  the  huge  cross,  his  head  crowned  with  a  wreath  of 
thorns. 

Whereupon  he  invariably  wandered  down  the  moun 
tain,  dragging  his  heavy  burden  through  vineyards  and 
olive  groves  until  he  came  to  the  high  wall  encircling 
the  Garden  of  Gethsemane";  here  he  usually  stopped 

45 


46  THE  HOLY  CITY 

before  a  low  gate,  laid  his  cross  on  the  ground,  and  leaned 
against  a  door-post,  as  if  waiting  for  some  one.  Time 
and  again  he  would  bend  down  and  peer  through  the 
keyhole  into  the  garden.  If  he  chanced  to  see  any  of 
the  Franciscan  monks  in  charge  of  Gethsemane  moving 
about  among  the  old  olive  trees  and  hedges  of  myrtle,  a 
look  of  joyous  anticipation  would  come  into  his  face. 
But  immediately  afterwards  he  would  shake  his  head, 
knowing  that  the  one  whom  he  sought  would  not  appear. 

Taking  up  his  cross  again,  he  wandered  down  the 
lower  terraces  of  the  mountain  into  the  Valley  of  Jehosh- 
aphat,  in  which  was  the  large  Jewish  cemetery — the  end 
of  the  cross  bumping  against  the  graves  and  dislodging 
the  small  stones  that  covered  them.  On  hearing  the 
rattle  of  falling  stones,  he  would  pause  and  look  back,  think 
ing  that  somebody  was  following  him.  But  seeing  no 
one,  he  sighed  heavily  and  wandered  on,  as  was  his 
custom. 

His  sighs  became  deep  groans  by  the  time  he  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  valley  and  the  task  of  bearing  the 
heavy  cross  up  the  western  side  of  the  mountain,  atop 
which  Jerusalem  lay,  was  before  him.  In  the  burying 
ground  of  the  Mohammedans  he  frequently  came  upon 
some  sorrowing  woman,  in  a  long  white  garment,  seated 
upon  one  of  the  low,  coffin-shaped  gravestones.  He  would 
stagger  toward  her  until  she,  frightened  by  the  noise  made 
by  the  dragging  of  the  cross  over  the  stones,  would  turn 
her  face  toward  him — a  face  covered  with  a  thick  black 
veil,  which  made  it  appear  as  though  there  were  nothing 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  CROSS  47 

behind  it;  then,  with  a  shudder,  he  turned  away  and 
passed  on. 

Only  with  the  most  painful  difficulty  did  he  climb  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  where  rose  the  wall  of  Jerusalem. 
Turning  in  on  the  narrow  pathway  outside  the  city  wall, 
he  went  on  toward  the  Hill  of  Zion  until  he  came  to  the 
little  Armenian  chapel  known  as  the  House  of  Caiaphas, 
where  he  again  laid  down  his  cross  and  looked  through 
a  keyhole.  Not  content  with  that,  he  seized  the  bell- 
rope  and  gave  it  a  violent  pull.  The  instant  he  heard  the 
clatter  of  slippered  feet  on  the  stone-paved  court  within 
he  smiled  and  raised  his  hands  to  the  crown  of  thorns  to 
remove  it.  When  the  church  custodian  opened  the  door 
and  shook  his  head  at  him,  the  man  bent  forward  and 
peered  through  the  half-open  door  into  the  little  court 
yard,  where,  according  to  tradition,  Peter  had  denied 
his  Master.  Finding  the  place  quite  deserted,  a  look 
of  deep  dejection  came  over  his  face.  Taking  up  his 
cross  once  more,  he  wandered  further. 

But  he  soon  quickened  his  pace,  as  if  impatient  eagerness 
had  endowed  him  with  greater  strength.  Entering  the 
city  by  the  Gate  of  Zion,  he  tramped  on  with  his  heavy 
burden  until  he  came  to  the  gloomy  gray  structure  which 
is  held  sacred  as  being  the  tomb  of  King  David,  and 
which  is  also  said  to  contain  the  room  where  Jesus  insti 
tuted  the  Holy  Communion. 

Here  the  old  man  was  wont  to  leave  his  cross  and  step 
into  the  courtyard.  The  Mohammedan  gate-keeper, 
who  had  only  angry  looks  for  all  other  Christians,  would 


48  THE  HOLY  CITY 

bow  down  before  him  whose  mind  was  with  God,  and 
kiss  his  hand.  Every  time  this  mark  of  veneration 
was  accorded  the  cross-bearer,  he  would  look  into  the 
Moslem's  face  expectantly,  then  quickly  pulling  his  hand 
away,  he  would  wipe  it  on  his  long  coarse  mantle,  and 
take  up  his  cross. 

Thereupon  he  would  drag  himself  with  exceeding 
slowness  to  the  northern  end  of  the  city,  where  the  Road 
of  Christ's  Sufferings  winds  its  dark  and  gloomy  way. 
While  in  the  crowded  streets,  he  would  peer  searchingly 
into  every  face,  then  turn  away  in  dumb  disappointment. 
Kindly  water-carriers,  seeing  how  he  sweated  under  his 
heavy  burden,  would  offer  him  a  tin  of  water,  and  the 
vegetable  venders  would  throw  him  a  handful  of  beans 
or  pistachios.  At  first  he  received  these  little  attentions 
graciously,  but  later  he  turned  away  as  though  he  had 
expected  something  quite  different  and  better. 

When  he  came  to  the  Road  of  Agony  he  appeared  more 
hopeful  than  during  the  first  part  of  his  wanderings  and 
groaned  less  loudly  under  the  weight  of  his  cross.  Straight 
ening  his  back,  he  looked  about  him  like  a  prisoner  cer 
tain  of  release.  He  began  at  the  first  of  the  Fourteen 
Stations  of  the  Cross  on  the  Road  of  Christ's  Sufferings 
— each  of  which  was  designated  by  a  small  tablet  of 
stone — but  did  not  stop  until  he  stood  before  the  Con 
vent  of  the  Sisters  of  Zion,  close  by  the  Ecce  Homo  Arch, 
where  Pilate  showed  Jesus  to  the  populace.  Here  he  threw 
down  the  cross  as  a  burden  that  he  need  never  take  up 
again,  and  knocked  three  times  at  the  convent  gate. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  X:ROSS  49 

Without  waiting  for  it  to  be  opened,  he  tore  the  crown 
of  thorns  from  off  his  head  and  flung  it  to  the  dogs  that 
lay  sleeping  outside  the  convent,  confident  now  that  he 
would  find  the  one  he  was  seeking. 

The  Sisters  knew  his  knock  and  presently  one  of  them 
opened  a  little  wicket  in  the  gate  and  pushed  toward  him 
a  small  round  loaf  of  bread.  He  did  not  take  the  bread 
however,  but  let  it  fall  to  the  ground.  Seized  with  rage, 
he  stamped  his  feet  and  uttered  wild  shrieks  of  despair. 
After  a  while  his  usual  mien  of  patient  suffering  returned; 
then  he  picked  up  the  bread  and  ate  it  ravenously.  Where 
upon  he  took  up  his  discarded  crown  of  thorns  and  again 
shouldered  his  cross. 

A  few  moments  later  he  stood  in  blissful  expectation 
outside  the  little  chapel  known  as  the  House  of  Saint 
Veronica,  from  which  he  presently  turned  in  disappoint 
ment.  He  moved  on  from  Station  to  Station,  awaiting 
with  renewed  confidence  his  release  at  the  chapel  which 
marks  the  spot  where  once  stood  the  Gate  of  Righteous 
ness,  through  which  Jesus  passed  out  from  the  city,  and 
also  at  the  place  where  the  Saviour  spoke  to  the  women 
of  Jerusalem. 

Having  thus  put  behind  him  the  Road  of  Christ's  Suf 
ferings,  he  began  to  wander  through  the  town,  still  anx 
iously  seeking.  In  the  narrow  crowded  Street  of  David 
he  proved  to  be  as  great  an  obstruction  to  traffic  as  a 
camel  laden  with  fagots,  yet  nobody  ever  swore  at  him 
or  molested  him. 

Now  and  then  during  these  wanderings  he  strayed  into 


5o  THE  HOLY  CITY 

the  narrow  portico  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
But  there  the  poor  cross-bearer  never  laid  down  his 
burden  nor  removed  his  crown  of  thorns.  The  instant  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  gloomy  gray  fagade  he  turned  and  fled. 
The  old  penitent  was  never  to  be  seen  at  any  of  the  grand 
religious  fetes — not  even  at  the  great  Easter  Festivals. 
He  seemed  to  feel  that  here  of  all  places  he  would  not 
find  what  he  was  seeking. 

He  usually  went  down  to  meet  the  caravans  that 
unloaded  their  wares  at  the  Jaffa  gate;  he  would  sit 
for  hours  outside  some  hospice,  scrutinizing  all  strangers 
that  passed  in  and  out.  After  the  railway  between 
Jaffa  and  Jerusalem  had  been  opened,  he  went  down  to 
the  station  almost  every  day.  He  called  upon  bishops 
and  patriarchs  at  their  residences,  and  always  on  a  Friday 
he  could  be  seen  standing  on  the  square  in  front  of  the 
Wailing  Place,  where  the  Jews  were  wont  to  weep  over 
the  destruction  of  their  Temple,  over  the  walls  that  had 
fallen,  over  the  power  that  was  gone  from  them,  over  the 
great  prophets  long  dead,  over  the  priests  who  had  strayed 
and  the  kings  who  had  defied  the  Almighty. 

One  beautiful  day  in  August  the  cross-bearer  wandered 
through  the  lonely  fields  outside  the  Gordon  Colony. 
Walking  along  the  road,  he  saw  a  long  train  of  wagons 
coming  from  the  railway  station  and  moving  toward  the 
colony.  In  these  wagons  sat  a  number  of  grave  and 
solemn  looking  persons,  some  of  whom  were  exceedingly 
plain,  with  sandy  hair,  heavy  eyelids,  and  protruding 
under-lip. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  CROSS  SI 

As  these  people  drove  by  the  man  did  what  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  doing  when  new  pilgrims  arrived  in  Jerusa 
lem — he  rested  his  cross  against  his  shoulder  and  lifted 
his  arms  toward  heaven,  his  face  lighting  with  joy. 

The  people  in  the  wagon  seeing  him  started,  but  not 
from  surprise.  It  seemed  as  if  they  had  expected  this 
to  be  the  first  sight  that  would  meet  their  eyes  in  the 
Holy  City.  Some,  filled  with  compassion,  stood  up  and 
stretched  forth  their  arms,  as  though  wanting  to  get  down 
from  the  wagon  to  help  the  old  man  carry  his  heavy 
burden. 

Several  of  the  colonists  who  were  well  acquainted  in 
Jerusalem  then  explained  to  the  newcomers  that  he  was  a 
poor  demented  man  who  went  about  like  this  every  day, 
thinking  that  he  was  carrying  the  Cross  of  Christ  and 
must  continue  to  drag  it  about  until  he  had  found  the 
one  who  was  to  bear  it  in  his  stead. 

The  people  in  the  wagons  turned  and  looked  back  at 
the  man  with  the  cross,  who  stood  the  whole  time  with 
hands  uplifted  in  an  attitude  of  intense  exaltation. 

That  was  the  last  day  the  old  cross-bearer  was  seen  in 
Jerusalem.  The  next  morning  the  lepers  encamped 
outside  the  gates  of  the  city  watched  vainly  for  his  com 
ing.  He  no  longer  disturbed  the  mourners  at  the  grave 
yards,  nor  troubled  the  door-keeper  of  the  House  of 
Caiaphas.  The  pious  Sisters  of  Zion  had  no  further 
opportunity  to  furnish  him  his  daily  loaf,  the  Turkish 
custodian  at  the  Church  of  the  Sepulchre  waited  in  vain 
to  see  him  enter,  then  turn  and  flee,  and  the  kindly  water- 


52  THE  HOLY  CITY 

carriers  wondered  at  his  failure  to  appear  in  the  crowded 
streets. 

No  one  knew  whether  he  lay  dead  in  his  grotto  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives  or  whether  he  had  gone  back  to  his  dis 
tant  homeland.  The  only  thing  known  for  a  certainty 
was  that  he  no  longer  carried  his  heavy  burden,  for  the 
morning  after  the  arrival  of  the  Dalecarlian  pilgrims  the 
Gordon  colonists  found  the  big  cross  lying  on  the  steps 
outside  their  house. 


"A  CITY  OF  GOLD,  LIKE  UNTO  CLEAR  GLASS" 


"A  CITY  OF  GOLD,  LIKE  UNTO  CLEAR  GLASS" 

A/tONG    the    Dalecarlian  peasants    who    came   to 
Jerusalem  was  a  smith  named  Birger  Larsson. 
He  had  been  very  happy  at  the  thought  of  the 
journey,  and  no  one  had  left  home  with  less  regret,  nor 
had  anyone  looked  forward  with  keener  joy  to  beholding 
the  glory  of  the  Holy  City. 

But  Birger  was  taken  ill  almost  the  moment  he  stepped 
ashore  at  Jaffa,  where  he  had  to  sit  in  the  broiling  sun 
for  hours,  before  the  train  started.  When  he  finally 
got  into  the  hot  railway  carriage  his  head  ached  violently, 
and  when  he  reached  Jerusalem  he  was  so  sick  that  he 
had  to  be  all  but  carried  out  onto  the  platform. 

Bo  had  telegraphed  from  Jaffa,  to  inform  the  colonists 
of  the  arrival  of  the  Dalecarlians,  and  some  of  the  Swed 
ish-Americans  came  to  meet  the  train,  to  greet  their 
friends  and  relatives.  By  that  time  Birger  had  such  a 
high  fever  that  he  did  not  even  recognize  his  own  town- 
folk,  although  some  of  them  had  been  his  near  neighbors. 
He  knew,  however,  that  he  was  now  in  Jerusalem,  and 
wanted  to  keep  up  long  enough  to  see  the  Holy  City. 

From  the  railway  station,  which  was  at  some  distance 
away  from  the  town,  nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  city. 
While  there,  Birger  lay  perfectly  still,  with  his  eyes 
closed. 

55 


56  THE  HOLY  CITY 

When  all  were  at  last  seated  in  the  wagons  awaiting 
them,  they  drove  down  into  the  Valley  of  Hinnom  and  at 
the  brow  of  the  ridge  above  them  lay  Jerusalem. 

Lifting  his  heavy  eyelids,  Birger  glimpsed  a  city  sur 
rounded  by  a  high  wall  with  many  towers  and  battlements, 
behind  which  loomed  against  the  sky  great  domed  build 
ings,  and  a  couple  of  palm-trees  swayed  in  the  mountain 
breeze. 

It  was  drawing  on  toward  evening,  and  the  sun  hung 
big  and  red  at  the  edge  of  the  western  hills,  shedding  a 
bright  glow  over  all  the  firmament.  Even  the  earth 
shone  in  hues  roseate  and  golden.  To  Birger  it  appeared 
as  though  the  light  which  fell  upon  the  earth  did  not  come 
from  the  sun  but  from  the  city  on  the  heights,  that  it 
emanated  from  its  walls,  which  shone  like  burnished 
gold,  and  from  the  towers,  that  were  roofed  with  clear 
glass. 

He  smiled  on  beholding  two  suns — the  one  in  the  'sky 
and  the  one  on  the  earth,  God's  city,  Jerusalem.  For  a 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  joy  had  healed  him,  but  imme 
diately  the  fever  returned  and  during  the  remainder  of 
the  drive  to  the  Colony  House,  which  lay  just  beyond  the 
other  side  of  the  city,  he  was  unconscious. 

Nor  did  Birger  know  of  the  hearty  welcome  accorded 
them  at  the  colony.  He  was  too  far  gone  to  notice  the 
great  house,  or  the  white  marble  stairway,  or  the  beauti 
ful  gallery  surrounding  the  courtyard.  He  did  not  see 
the  fine,  intelligent  face  of  Mrs.  Gordon,  when  she  came 
out  on  the  steps  to  greet  them,  nor  old  Miss  Hoggs  of  the 


A  CITY  OF  GOLD  57 

owlish  eyes,  nor  any  of  his  other  new  sisters  and  brothers. 
He  did  not  even  know  when  he  was  carried  into  a  large, 
light  room,  which  was  now  to  be  the  home  of  himself 
and  family,  and  where  a  bed  was  quickly  made  ready  for 
him. 

The  next  day  he  was  no  better,  though  now  and  then 
he  had  lucid  moments  when  he  was  greatly  troubled  lest 
death  should  overtake  him  before  he  had  been  in  the  Holy 
City  and  seen  its  splendour  near  to.  "To  think  that  I 
have  come  so  far!"  he  said,  "and  must  now  die  without 
ever  seeing  Jerusalem's  palace  and  its  golden  streets, 
where  holy  men  in  shining  white  robes  walk  about  waving 
palms  and  singing."  He  lay  grieving  over  this  for  days, 
his  fever  rising  more  and  more.  Even  in  his  delirium 
he  lamented  that  he  should  never  again  behold  those  shin 
ing  walls  and  towers,  that  protected  God 's  own  city. 

So  great  was  his  despair  that  two  of  his  Dalecarlian 
friends,  Ljung  Bjorn  and  Tims  Halvor,  took  pity  on  him 
and  determined  to  set  his  mind  at  rest,  thinking  that 
perhaps  he  would  recover  if  his  longings  were  satisfied. 
They  made  a  litter  and  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  they 
bore  him  toward  Jerusalem. 

Birger,  fully  conscious  now,  lay  gazing  out  upon  the 
stony  soil  and  the  barren  hills.  When  they  came  within 
view  of  the  Damascus  gate  and  the  city  wall  the  bearers 
put  down  their  litter,  that  the  sick  man  might  enjoy 
the  sight  he  had  so  longed  to  see. 

He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  lay  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hands  in  an  effort  to  see  better.  And  he  saw  nothing 


58  THE  HOLY  CITY 

but  a  dingy  gray  wall,  built  of  stone  and  clay,  like  any 
other  wall.  The  high  gateway  with  its  low  entrance  and 
its  many  parapets,  looked  singularly  gloomy. 

Lying  there,  so  sick  and  feeble,  he  imagined  they  had 
not  brought  him  to  the  real  Jerusalem,  for  the  city  which 
he  had  seen  only  a  few  days  before,  was  dazzling  as  the 
sun  itself. 

"How  can  my  old  friends  and  countrymen  have  the 
heart  to  begrudge  me  a  glimpse  of  the  true  Jerusalem!' 
he  thought. 

The  men  now  carried  him  down  the  steep  hill  toward 
the  entrance.  Birger  thought  they  were  taking  him 
down  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  When  he  had  been 
borne  through  the  gateway,  he  raised  himself  a  little  to 
see  whether  they  had  really  brought  him  into  the  "Golden 
City." 

Birger  was  astonished  at  seeing  on  all  sides  only  gray 
houses,  and  still  more  so  when  he  saw  the  maimed  and 
crippled  beggars  that  sat  by  the  gate,  and  the  lean, 
mangy  dogs,  lying  four  and  five  together  on  the  big 
refuse-heaps. 

Never  had  he  come  upon  such  a  sickening  stench  as 
met  his  nostrils  here,  nor  felt  such  stifling  heat!  He 
wondered  if  there  were  any  winds  in  the  world  strong 
enough  to  clear  an  atmosphere  like  this. 

Glancing  down  at  the  paving-stones,  he  noticed  that 
they  were  crusted  with  thick  layers  of  ground-in  dirt, 
while  the  sight  of  all  the  cabbage  leaves  and  fruit  parings 
littered  the  streets  filled  him  with  dismay. 


A  CITY  OF  GOLD  59 

"I  can't  understand  why  Halvor  should  bother  to 
show  me  this  God  forsaken  place,"  he  muttered. 

His  friends  had  visited  the  city  several  times  since  their 
arrival,  and  could  point  out  to  the  sick  man  the  places  of 
interest  as  they  came  to  them. 

"That's  the  house  of  the  Rich  Man,"  said  Halvor, 
pointing  to  a  building  which  to  Birger  appeared  ready 
to  cave  in. 

They  turned  off  into  a  street  which  was  so  dark  that  to 
all  appearances  no  ray  of  sunlight  had  ever  penetrated  it. 
Birger  lay  gazing  up  at  the  arches  that  spanned  across 
the  street  joining  house  to  house  on  either  side.  "They're 
certainly  needed,"  he  thought.  "If  these  old  hovels 
were  not  so  well  supported  they'd  soon  tumble  down. " 

"This  is  the  Road  of  Christ's  Sufferings,"  Halvor  told 
Birger.  "It  was  here  Jesus  carried  the  Cross." 

Birger  was  now  pale  as  death;  the  blood  no  longer 
coursed  through  his  veins,  as  it  had  done  earlier  in  the  day, 
and  he  felt  cold  as  ice. 

Wherever  they  took  him  he  saw  nothing  but  dilapidated 
gray  walls  and  here  and  there  a  low  gate.  There  were 
hardly  any  windows  to  be  seen,  and  the  few  he  saw  were 
broken  and  the  holes  stopped  with  rags. 

Again  they  paused  a  moment.  "This  is  the  spot 
where  the  House  of  Pilate  once  stood, "  Halvor  explained. 
"It  was  here  Pilate  brought  Jesus  before  the  people, 
and  said,  'Behold  the  Man.'" 

Birger  Larsson  beckoned  Halvor  to  his  side  and  sol 
emnly  took  him  by  the  hand.  "Now  tell  me  one  thing, 


60  THE  HOLY  CITY 

as  cousin  to  cousin,"  he  said;  "is  this  the  real  Jeru 
salem?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Halvor,  "it's  the  real  one." 

"I'm  a  sick  man,"  said  Birger,  "and  may  be  gone  by 
morning;  so  you  mustn't  lie  to  me." 

"I'm  not  lying  to  you." 

Birger  had  hoped  that  he  could  make  Halvor  tell  him 
the  honest  truth.  Tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  at  the  thought 
of  his  old  friends  treating  him  thus.  Suddenly  a  happy 
thought  came  to  him.  "They're  doing  this — that  my 
joy  may  be  all  the  greater  when  they  carry  me  in  through 
the  high  gates  of  the  city  of  glory  and  splendour.  I  '11  let 
them  have  it  their  own  way,  for,  after  all,  they  mean 
well.  We  Helgumists  have  sworn  to  treat  one  another 
as  brothers." 

The  two  friends  went  on  with  him  through  the  dark 
streets,  some  of  which  were  canopied  with  great  rugs  full 
of  holes  and  rents.  In  these  covered  places  the  heat 
and  stench  were  insufferable. 

Their  next  stop  was  at  the  courtyard  of  a  large  gray 
building,  where  the  open  space  was  crowded  with  beggars 
and  venders  of  rosaries,  small  images,  willow-canes,  and 
what  not. 

"Here  you  see  the  church  that  is  built  over  Christ's 
tomb  and  Golgotha,"  said  Halvor. 

Birger  Larsson  glanced  up  at  the  structure  with  lustre 
less  eyes;  it  certainly  had  great  gates  and  broad  win 
dows,  and  was  tolerably  high  too;  but  never  had  he 
seen  a  church  lie  so  shut-in  between  other  buildings. 


A  CITY  OF  GOLD  61 

He  saw  neither  spire  nor  church-porch,  so  no  one  could 
make  him  believe  that  this  was  a  house  of  God.  "All 
these  hawkers  would  not  be  found  here,"  thought  he, 
"if  this  were  really  the  place  of  the  Sepulchre  of  Jesus. 
For  had  He  not  driven  the  money-changers  away  from 
the  temple  and  overturned  the  cages  of  those  who  sold 
doves?" 

"I  see,  I  see,"  he  answered,  nodding  to  Halvor,  while 
thinking  to  himself:  "I  wonder  what  they'll  hit  upon 
next?" 

"I'm  afraid  you  can't  stand  any  more  this  time," 
said  Halvor. 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  the  sick  man,  "I  can  stand  it  if 
you  can!" 

So  they  took  up  the  litter  again  and  moved  on.  Pres 
ently  they  came  to  the  southern  part  of  the  town,  where 
the  streets  presented  much  the  same  aspect  as  those  they 
had  already  traversed,  only  here  they  were  crowded 
with  people.  The  men  stopped  a  moment  so  that  Bir- 
ger  could  see  the  dark-skinned  Bedouins,  with  guns 
across  their  shoulders  and  scimiters  in  their  belts.  Hal 
vor  pointed  out  to  him  the  almost  nude  water-carriers, 
who  bore  their  pigskin  water-bags  on  their  backs,  the 
Russian  priests,  who  wore  their  hair  coiled  at  the  neck 
like  womenfolk,  and  the  Mohammedan  women,  who 
looked  like  wandering  ghosts  in  their  white  robes  and 
their  faces  covered  with  a  black  cloth. 

Birger  became  more  and  more  persuaded  in  his  own 
mind  that  his  friends  were  fooling  him.  Certainly 


62  THE  HOLY  CITY 

there  was  nothing  about  these  people  to  suggest  the 
peaceful  palm-bearers  that  were  said  to  march  through 
the  streets  of  the  real  Jerusalem. 

When  they  came  among  the  seething  throngs  Birger 's 
fever  returned.  Halvor  and  Ljung  Bjorn  saw  that  he 
was  growing  weaker  and  weaker.  His  hands  moved 
restlessly  on  his  coverlet  and  beads  of  cold  sweat  stood 
on  his  forehead.  But  when  they  talked  of  turning  back 
he  started  up  declaring  that  he  would  surely  die  if  they 
did  not  take  him  to  where  he  could  see  the  City  of  God. 

Thus  he  urged  them  on  until  they  reached  the  heights 
of  Zion  and  when  he  saw  Zion  's  Gate,  he  cried  out  that 
he  wanted  to  be  carried  through  it.  He  raised  himself 
now,  hoping  to  find  beyond  the  wall  the  beautiful  City 
of  God  for  which  his  soul  longed.  But  once  on  the  other 
side,  he  saw  only  a  barren  sun-scorched  plain,  covered 
with  stones,  remnants  of  walls,  and  heaps  of  rubbish. 
Near  the  gate  crouched  some  poor  human  wrecks,  who 
crawled  over  to  the  litter  and  held  out  their  hands  to 
the  sick  man — hands  from  which  the  fingers  had  rotted 
away — and  cried  out  with  voices  that  sounded  like  the 
snarling  of  a  dog.  Their  faces  were  partly  destroyed; 
one  had  no  nose,  another  no  cheeks. 

Birger  screamed  aloud  in  terror.  In  his  weakened 
condition,  he  began  to  weep  from  fear,  thinking  his 
friends  had  taken  him  down  into  hell. 

"It's  only  the  lepers,"  Halvor  explained.  "You 
know,  Birger,  that  there  are  lepers  in  this  land."  The 
men,  however,  hastened  to  take  him  farther  up  the  hill, 


A  CITY  OF  GOLD  63 

that  he  might  be  spared  the  harrowing  sight  of  these 
unhappy  wretches. 

Then  they  put  down  the  litter  again  and  Halvor  slipped 
an  arm  under  the  sick  man's  neck  and  raised  his  head 
from  the  pillow.  "Now  you  must  try  to  look  up,  Bir- 
ger,"  he  said.  "From  here  you  can  see  the  Dead  Sea 
and  the  hills  of  Moab." 

Birger  once  more  raised  his  weary  eyes  and  gazed 
out  across  the  desolate  mountain  region  east  of  Jeru 
salem.  Away  in  the  distance  glistened  the  waters  of  a 
sea,  and  beyond  it  rose  shining  blue  hills,  tipped  with 
gold.  It  was  all  so  beautiful,  so  bright  and  translucent, 
he  could  hardly  believe  that  the  sight  he  saw  was  of  this 
earth. 

Enraptured,  he  sprang  from  the  litter  and  tried  to 
hasten  toward  the  distant  scene.  But  after  a  few  falter 
ing  steps,  he  sank  down  unconscious.  His  friends 
thought  at  first  that  he  was  dead,  but  in  a  while  he 
revived  somewhat.  He  lingered  but  two  days  longer 
and  up  to  the  very  last  he  raved  in  his  delirium  about 
the  real  Jerusalem;  he  moaned  that  the  Golden  City 
became  more  and  more  remote  the  more  he  strove  to 
reach  it,  and  that  neither  he  nor  any  of  them  would  ever 
enter  therein. 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM 

IT  IS  a  well  known  fact  that  not  many  people  can 
endure  living  in  Jerusalem  any  length  of  time. 
Even  those  who  can  stand  the  climate  and  do  not 
become  smitten  with  contagious  diseases  frequently  go 
under.  The  Holy  City  makes  them  morose  or  drives 
them  insane;  yes,  and  it  even  kills  them  outright.  You 
cannot  stop  there  a  fortnight  without  hearing  people  say 
of  this  or  that  person,  who  has  passed  away:  "Jerusalem 
has  killed  him." 

Naturally  you  are  filled  with  astonishment  at  hearing 
such  things.  "How  can  this  be?"  you  ask  yourself. 
"How  can  a  city  kill?  Surely  these  people  do  not  mean 
what  they  say."  And  going  about  here  and  there  in  the 
city  you  think:  "I  wonder  what  they  mean  by  saying  that 
Jerusalem  kills.  I  should  like  to  know  where  that  dread 
ful  Jerusalem  can  be  which  is  supposed  to  cause  death!" 

So  you  decide  perhaps  to  make  a  tour  of  the  city.  You  go 
out  through  the  Jaffa  gate,  turn  to  the  left  past  the 
imposing  four-cornered  Tower  of  David  and  wander 
along  the  narrow  path  outside  the  city  wall  toward  the 
Gate  of  Zion.  Just  inside  the  wall  lie  the  Turkish  bar 
racks,  from  which  you  may  hear  strains  of  martial  music 
and  the  din  of  practice  at  arms.  Then  you  pass  by  the 
big  Armenian  Cloister,  which  is  also  a  kind  of  stronghold, 

67 


68  THE  HOLY  CITY 

with  its  massive  walls  and  gates,  locked  and  barred. 
A  little  farther  on  you  come  upon  the  sombre  gray  struc 
ture  known  as  David's  Grave;  you  suddenly  realize 
that  you  are  treading  upon  Holy  Zion,  the  mountain  of 
the  Kings,  and  you  think  of  the  mountain  under  you  as 
a  great  arch,  where  King  David,  in  a  golden  mantel,  sits 
upon  a  throne  of  fire,  still  wielding  the  sceptre  over  Pal 
estine  and  its  Holy  City.  It  dawns  upon  you  that  the 
remnants  of  walls  which  cover  the  ground  are  the  ruins 
of  royal  palaces;  that  the  mound  opposite  is  the  Rock  of 
Offence,  where  Solomon  fell;  that  the  deep  vale  into 
which  you  are  looking — the  Valley  of  Hinnom — was 
once  filled  with  the  bodies  of  those  killed  in  Jerusalem, 
when  the  city  was  destroyed  by  the  Romans. 

A  strange  feeling  comes  over  you  while  walking  there. 
You  seem  to  hear  the  noise  of  battle,  to  see  great  armies 
advancing  to  attack  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  kings 
driving  through  the  streets  in  their  chariots.  This  is  the 
Jerusalem  of  War  and  Carnage,  you  think,  horrified  by  the 
panorama  of  abomination  and  bloodshed  that  unrolls 
before  your  mind. 

Then  for  a  moment  you  wonder  if  it  is  this  Jerusalem 
that  kills.  But  immediately  you  say:  "It  can't  be,  for 
it  was  so  long  ago  that  the  din  of  clashing  swords  was 
heard  here  and  the  red  blood  flowed." 

And  you  wander  on. 

But  when  you  have  turned  the  corner  of  the  wall,  and 
reached  the  east  end  of  the  city,  you  meet  with  some 
thing  quite  different.  You  now  are  come  to  the  holy 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM  69 

places,  and  here  you  think  only  of  ancient  High  Priests 
and  servants  of  the  Temple.  Just  inside  the  wall  is 
the  Wailing  Place  of  the  Jews,  where  Rabbins  in  their 
long  red  or  blue  caftans  stand  weeping  over  the  judg 
ments  of  Jehovah.  And  here  looms  Mount  Moriah,  with 
its  glorious  Temple  site.  Outside  the  wall  the  ground 
slopes  down  toward  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  with- 
its  countless  graves,  beyond  which  you  glimpse  Geth- 
semane  and  the  Mount  of  Olives,  whence  Christ  ascended 
into  Heaven.  And  here  you  behold  the  pillar  in  the  wall 
where  'tis  said  that  Christ  shall  stand  on  the  Day  of 
Judgment  holding  one  end  of  a  long  thread,  fine  as  a  hair, 
while  Mohammed  will  stand  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives 
holding  the  other  end,  and  the  dead,  on  awaking,  must 
cross  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat  on  this  thread.  The 
righteous  will  reach  the  other  side,  but  the  wicked  shall 
fall  into  the  fires  of  Gehenna. 

Walking  there  you  think:  "This  is  the  Jerusalem 
of  Death  and  Judgment."  Here  both  Heaven  and  Hell 
seem  to  open  before  you.  "Nor  is  it  this  Jerusalem 
that  kills,"  you  say  to  yourself.  "The  trumpets  of 
Doomsday  are  too  far  away  and  the  fires  of  Gehenna 
are  extinguished." 

Continuing  on  your  way  along  the  encircling  wall  you 
presently  come  to  the  north  side  of  the  city,  where  you 
pass  through  tracts  monotonous  and  desolate.  Here 
lies  the  naked  hill  which  is  probably  the  real  Golgotha; 
yonder  the  grotto  where  Jeremiah  wrote  his  Lamenta 
tions,  just  inside  the  wall  is  the  Pool  of  Bethesda  and 


70  THE  HOLY  CITY 

beneath  dismal  arches  winds  the  Via  Dolorosa.  Here 
is  the  Jerusalem  of  Disconsolation;  of  Suffering;  of 
Anguish;  of  Atonement. 

You  pause  a  while  and  gaze  broodingly  upon  all  this 
forbidding  gloom.  "Nor  is  this  the  Jerusalem  that  kills," 
you  think,  and  pass  on. 

But  going  westward  and  northwest,  what  a  con 
trast  will  appear  to  you !  Here  in  the  new  part  of  the  town 
which  has  sprung  up  outside  the  city  wall  are  the  pala 
tial  homes  of  the  missionaries  and  the  big  hotels.  Here 
lies  the  extensive  group  of  Russian  buildings — the  church, 
the  hospital,  and  the  many  caravansaries,  which  can  har 
bour  twenty  thousand  pilgrims;  here  consuls  and  clergy 
men  build  themselves  attractive  villas  and  pilgrims  wan 
der  in  and  out  of  the  shops  where  only  sacred  wares  are 
sold.  Here  one  finds  parks,  driveways,  and  broad  streets, 
with  "fine  stores,  banking-houses  and  travel  bureaus.  On 
this  side  are  the  expansive  Jewish  and  German  agricul 
tural  colonies,  the  large  convents  and  the  many  benevo 
lent  institutions;  here  pass  monks  and  nuns,  nurses 
and  deaconesses,  missionaries  and  Russian  patriarchs; 
here  reside  the  men  of  science  who  are  studying  Jeru 
salem's  past  and  elderly  English  ladies  who  cannot  live 
elsewhere.  Here  are  the  splendid  mission  schools,  where 
the  pupils  are  given  free  instruction,  board,  lodg 
ing  and  raiment  for  the  sake  of  winning  their  souls; 
here,  too,  are  the  mission  hospitals,  where  one  begs  the 
sick  to  come  in  order  to  convert  them;  here  are  held 
church  services  and  prayer  meetings  at  which  they  fight 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM  71 

for  souls.  It  is  here  the  Catholic  speaks  evil  of  the  1 
Protestant,  the  Methodist  of  the  Quaker,  the  Lutheran  V 
of  the  Reformist,  the  Russian  of  the  Armenian;  here 
lurks  the  demon  of  envy;  here  the  zealot  mistrusts  the 
worker  of  miracles;  here  orthodox  contends  with  heretic; 
here  one  finds  neither  pity  nor  tolerance;  here  one  hates 
in  the  name  of  God  everyone  else.  And  it  is  here  that 
you  find  what  you  have  been  seeking.  This  is  the  Jeru 
salem  of  soul  hunting;  this  is  the  Jerusalem  of  cruel 
tongues — of  falsehood,  of  slander,  of  revilement.  Here 
one  persecutes  untiringly;  here  one  murders  without 
weapons.  It  is  this  Jerusalem  that  kills. 

After  the  arrival  of  the  Swedish  peasants,  the  Gordon 
colonists  noticed  a  marked  change  in  the  general  attitude 
toward  themselves.  At  first  it  was  apparent  only  in 
little  things.  The  English  Methodist  clergyman,  for 
instance,  did  not  return  their  salutations,  and  the  pious 
Sisters  of  Zion,  who  lived  in  the  convent  near  the  Ecce 
Homo  Arch,  would  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the  street 
on  meeting  them,  as  if  afraid  of  being  contaminated  by 
something  harmful  should  they  come  too  close. 

None  of  the  colonists  seemed  to  take  this  to  heart. 
Nor  did  they  attach  any  special  .significance  to  the  fact 
that  some  American  tourists  who  had  spent  a  whole 
evening  at  the  colony,  chatting  with  their  compatriots, 
did  not  come  again  the  next  day,  as  they  had  promised, 
and  did  not  appear  to  know  Mrs.  Gordon  or  Miss  Young 
when  they  met  them  afterwards  in  the  street.  But  it 


72  THE  HOLY  CITY 

was  a  more  serious  matter  when  some  of  the  young  women 
of  the  colony  on  visiting  one  of  the  new  shops  over  by  the 
Jaffa  gate,  were  accosted  by  the  Greek  merchants  who 
flung  some  remarks  at  them  which,  though  they  did  not 
understand,  were  said  in  a  tone  and  with  a  look  that  sent 
the  blood  to  their  faces. 

The  colonists  tried  to  persuade  themselves  that  it  was 
all  due  to  misapprehension.  "Some  evil  report  of  us  must 
have  been  circulated  over  in  the  Christian  quarter," 
they  said,  "but  it  will  soon  die  out.  The  old  Gordonites 
remembered  other  occasions  when  false  rumours  had  got 
abroad.  It  had  been  said  of  them  that  they  did  not 
bring  up  their  children  properly;  that  they  lived  upon  the 
bounty  of  a  rich  elderly  widow  whom  they  had  fleeced 
unmercifully;  that  they  allowed  their  sick  to  die  for 
the  want  of  medical  attention,  on  the  ground  that  they 
could  not  interfere  with  the  "workings  of  Providence"; 
that  they  lived  in  luxury  and  idleness  while  pretending 
to  labour  for  the  advancement  of  true  Christianity.  "It 
is  something  of  this  sort  that  has  sprung  up  now," 
they  thought.  "The  slander  will  die  away,  as  it  died 
before,  since  it  does  not  contain  a  grain  of  truth  to  feed 
upon." 

Then  it  happened  that  the  Bethlehem  woman  who 
used  to  bring  them  fresh  vegetables  every  day  stopped 
coming.  The  colonists  sought  her  out  and  tried  to 
persuade  her  to  come  as  usual,  but  she  positively  refused 
to  sell  to  them. 

They  knew  from  this  that  something  very  derogatory 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM  73 

must  have  been  said  about  them,  which  concerned 
them  all  and  had  become  common  talk  among  high  and 
low. 

Before  very  long  they  had  fresh  confirmation  of  this. 
Some  of  the  Swedish  brethren  were  in  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  one  day  when  a  band  of  Russian 
pilgrims  entered.  The  good-natured  Russians  smiled 
and  nodded  to  them,  seeing  that  they  were  peasants  like 
themselves.  Whereupon  a  Greek  priest,  in  passing,  said 
something  to  the  pilgrims,  who  immediately  crossed 
themselves  and  shook  their  fists  at  the  Swedes,  as  if 
wanting  to  drive  them  out  of  the  church. 

Not  far  from  Jerusalem  there  is  a  colony  of  German 
peasants  who  are  Dissenters.  They  had  been  in  the  Holy 
Land  many  years,  and  had  suffered  persecution  both 
in  their  own  country  and  in  Palestine.  People  had  tried 
to  drive  them  out.  But  for  all  that  things  had  gone 
well  with  them,  and  they  had  now  a  large  flourishing 
colony  at  Caifa  and  another  in  Jaffa,  in  addition  to  the 
one  in  Jerusalem. 

One  of  these  Dissenters  came  to  Mrs.  Gordon  one  day 
and  told  her  of  the  scandalous  reports  of  her  people. 
"It  is  the  missionaries  over  there,"  he  said,  pointing 
toward  the  west,  "who  are  vilifying  you.  In  truth,  did 
I  not  know  from  experience  that  one  may  be  persecuted 
without  cause  I  should  refuse  to  sell  you  any  meat  or  flour. 
But  I  understand,  of  course,  that  they  can't  bear  the 
thought  of  your  having  gained  so  many  converts  of 
late." 


74  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Mrs.  Gordon  then  asked  him  what  they  were  charged 
with. 

"They  say  that  you  colonists  are  immoral;  that  you 
do  not  allow  your  people  to  marry,  as  God  has  com 
manded;  and  therefore  they  maintain  that  all  is  not 
right  here. " 

At  first  the  colonists  would  not  believe  this;  but  they 
soon  learned  that  the  man  had  spoken  the  truth,  and 
that  all  Jerusalem  believed  they  were  living  in  sin.  None 
of  the  Christians  in  the  city  would  speak  to  them.  At 
the  hotels  the  guests  were  warned  against  them.  Travel 
ling  missionaries,  however,  would  sometimes  venture  out 
of  the  colony.  But  on  their  return  they  would  say,  with 
a  meaningful  shake  of  the  head,  that  although  they  them 
selves  had  seen  nothing  shocking,  many  corrupt  prac 
tices  might,  be  carried  on  out  there  that  were  not  apparent 
to  the  casual  visitor. 

The  Americans,  from  the  consul  down  to  the  humblest 
sick  nurse,  were  the  ones  who  decried  the  Gordonites 
the  loudest.  "It  is  a  disgrace  to  us  Americans  that 
these  creatures  are  allowed  to  remain  in  Jerusalem!" 
they  said. 

The  colonists  were  sensible  enough  to  know  that  they 
must  let  matters  take  their  course.  Their  traducers 
would  doubtless  discover  in  due  time  that  they  were  in 
error.  "We  can't  go  from  house  to  house  and  proclaim 
our  innocence,"  they  said.  And  they  took  comfort  in  the 
thought  that  they  still  had  each  other,  and  were  united 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM  75 

and  happy.  "The  sick  and  poor  of  Jerusalem  have  not 
shunned  us  thus  far.  We  must  let  this  ill-wind  blow 
over,  for  it  is  only  a  test  of  our  faith. " 

At  first  the  Swedes  bore  the  cruel  slander  very  calmly. 
"If  these  people  out  here  are  so  blind  as  to  believe  that 
we  poor  peasants  have  come  to  this  land,  where  our 
Saviour  died,  in  order  to  lead  loose  lives,  then  their 
judgment  isn't  worth  much,  and  what  they  think  of  us 
doesn't  matter."  And  when  people  continued  to  treat 
them  with  contempt,  they  rejoiced  in  the  thought  that 
God  found  them  worthy  to  suffer  persecution  and 
scorn  in  the  very  place  where  Jesus  had  been  mocked  and 
crucified. 

Then  one  day,  toward  the  end  of  September,  Gunhild 
received  a  letter  from  her  father,  Councilman  Clements- 
son,  telling  her  of  the  death  of  her  mother.  Her  father 
did  not  reproach  her;  he  wrote  only  of  the  mother's 
last  illness  and  the  funeral.  Evidently  the  old  council 
man  had  meant  to  be  forbearing,  knowing  how  unhappy 
she  would  feel  over  the  loss  of  her  mother,  for  the  whole 
letter  was  penned  in  the  same  gentle  way  to  the  very  end. 
But  when  he  had  signed  it,  suppressed  anger  must  have 
got  the  better  of  him;  for  in  a  postscript  scrawled  in 
bold  black  letters  it  said:  "Your  mother  might  have 
got  over  her  grief  at  your  leaving  home,  but  what  she 
read  in  a  missionary  paper  about  the  shameful  life  you 
lead  out  there  in  Jerusalem,  killed  her.  People  here 
expected  better  things  of  you  and  of  those  in  whose 
company  you  went  away." 


76  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Gunhild  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket  and  carried  it 
about  with  her  the  whole  day  without  speaking  of  it  to 
anyone.  There  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that  her  father 
had  told  the  truth  as  to  what  had  been  the  cause  of  her 
mother's  death.  Her  parents  had  always  been  very 
jealous  of  their  honour  and  good  repute.  It  was  the  same 
with  herself;  no  one  in  the  colony  had  suffered  more 
keenly  than  she  from  being  misjudged  and  maligned. 
The  fact  that  she  was  innocent  of  any  wrong-doing  was 
no  comfort  to  her;  she  felt  as  if  she  were  disgraced  and 
could  never  again  go  out  among  people.  For  a  long  time 
she  had  gone  about  in  a  state  of  torment.  The  malicious 
tongues  had  hurt  her  like  as  a  smarting  wound,  and  now 
they  had  caused  the  death  of  her  mother! 

Gertrude  and  Gunhild  shared  one  room,  and  the  two 
girls  had  always  been  the  closest  of  friends.  Yet  Gunhild 
did  not  even  tell  Gertrude  what  her  father  had  written; 
she  felt  it  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  her  friend's  happiness 
at  being  in  Jerusalem  where  everything  seemed  to  bring 
our  Saviour  nearer  to  her. 

But  many  times  during  the  day  Gunhild  drew  the  letter 
out  of  her  pocket  and  looked  at  it;  she  did  not  dare  read 
it  again,  the  mere  sight  of  it  made  her  heart  ache.  "If  I 
could  only  die!"  she  thought.  "I  can  never  again  be 
happy.  If  I  could  only  die!" 

She  felt  that  the  letter  contained  a  poison  that  would 
kill  her,  and  only  hoped  it  would  work  quickly. 

The  next  day  Gunhild  passed  through  the  Damas 
cus  gate;  she  had  been  in  the  city  and  was  on  her 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM  77 

way  back  to  the  colony.  It  was  insufferably  hot  that 
day,  as  it  often  is  toward  the  end  of  October,  before 
the  autumn  rains  set  in.  When  Gunhild  came  out  from 
the  dingy  town  where  houses  and  arches  gave  protection 
against  the  sun,  the  glare  of  the  sunlight  caught  her  like 
a  blow,  and  she  felt  tempted  to  run  back  into  the  shade 
of  the  gateway.  The  open  sunny  road  before  her  looked 
as  dangerous  to  venture  out  upon  as  a  rifle-range  across 
which  soldiers  are  firing  at  a  target. 

Gunhild  would  not  turn  back  just  for  a  little  sunshine. 
She  had  been  told,  of  course,  that  it  was  not  safe  to  be 
out  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  but  paid  no  heed  to  the  warn 
ing.  Instead,  she  did  as  one  does  when  caught  in  a 
shower;  she  hunched  her  shoulders,  drew  her  kerchief 
farther  up  on  her  neck,  and  ran  as  fast  as  she  could  run. 

She  fancied  the  sun  held  a  fiery  bow,  and  was  shooting 
red-hot  darts  at  her.  The  sun,  apparently,  had  nothing 
else  to  do  than  to  take  aim  at  her.  All  at  once  a  sharp 
rain  of  fire  beat  upon  her,  and  it  did  not  come  from  the 
heavens  alone.  Everything  around  her  flashed  and 
stung  her  in  the  eyes;  tiny  sharp  arrows  seemed  to  shoot 
up  from  the  glittering  granules  of  the  road-stones;  the 
green  window-panes  of  a  convent  at  the  wayside  sparkled 
so  that  she  dare  not  glance  up  at  them;  the  steel  key  in 
a  door  sent  out  little  threatening  rays;  so  did  the  shin 
ing  leaves  of  the  castor-bean,  which  seemed  to  have 
survived  the  summer  only  to  torment  her. 

Wherever  she  looked,  whether  heavenward  or  earth 
ward,  everything  glittered  and  shone.  The  heat  caused 


78  THE  HOLY  CITY 

her  no  great  discomfort,  intense  as  it  was,  but  what  she 
most  suffered  from  was  the  terrible  white  glare  of  the 
sunlight  that  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  back  of  her  eyes 
and  burn  into  her  brain. 

Gunhild  felt  toward  the  sun  as  a  poor  hunted  animal 
must  feel  toward  its  pursuers.  She  had  a  strange  im 
pulse  to  turn  and  look  her  pursuer  in  the  face.  She  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  then  faced  about  and  gazed  into  the 
sky. 

And  there  rolled  the  sun,  like  a  great  bluish-white 
flame!  As  Gunhild  stood  blinking  at  it,  the  whole  sky 
turned  black  and  the  sun  shrank  to  a  mere  spark,  with 
a  malevolent  glint.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  break  away 
from  the  heavens  and  come  shooting  down  to  strike  and 
kill  her. 

With  a  shriek,  she  put  her  hands  up  to  her  neck  as  a 
shield  and  ran  on  a  little  way  down  the  road,  the  lime- 
dust  whirling  around  her  in  a  suffocating  cloud.  Then 
she  saw  a  great  pile  of  stones,  remnants  of  a  tumble-down 
house,  and  hastened  toward  it.  She  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  an  opening  leading  to  the  cellar,  and  went 
down  into  it;  there  all  was  dark  and  cool. 

Standing  with  her  back  to  the  opening,  she  rested  her 
aching  eyes.  Nothing  here  glittered  or  shone.  Now 
she  knew  how  it  must  feel  to  a  poor  little  fox  to  creep 
down  into  its  hole  when  the  hunters  are  after  it.  The 
heat  and  glare  outside  her  retreat  were  to  Gunhild  as 
baffled  huntsmen  lying  in  wait. 

Gradually  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness, 


GOD'S  HOLY  CITY,  JERUSALEM          79 

and  finding  a  stone,  she  sat  down  to  rest.  She  knew  it 
would  not  be  safe  for  her  to  venture  out  for  several 
hours — not  until  the  sun  had  sunk  so  low  as  to  lose 
its  power  to  harm.  But  Gunhild  had  been  sitting  there 
only  a  little  while,  when  a  terrible  vertigo  seized  her,  and 
a  thousand  suns  began  to  dance  before  her  eyes.  The 
cellar  seemed  to  swing  round  in  a  continuous  circular 
movement,  and  she  had  to  lean  against  the  wall  to  keep 
from  falling. 

"O  God!"  she  cried.  "It  even  pursues  me  here!  I 
must  have  done  something  dreadful,  or  the  sun  wouldn't 
hate  me  so." 

Then  she  thought  of  the  letter,  of  her  mother's  death, 
of  her  own  great  sorrow  and  her  wish  to  die;  all  of  which 
had  vanished  from  her  mind  while  her  life  was  in  peril; 
then  she  had  only  thought  of  saving  herself. 

Gunhild  quickly  drew  out  the  letter,  and  went  toward 
the  opening  to  read  it  again.  Seeing  the  words  before 
her  eyes  in  the  precise  order  in  which  they  were  fixed 
in  her  memory,  she  moaned  aloud.  Immediately  a 
thought  came  that  seemed  to  comfort  her:  "Can't  you 
see  that  God  intends  to  let  you  slip  away  from  this  life?" 

She  thought  this  very  beautiful  and  regarded  it  as  a 
special  grace  from  God.  She  could  not  fully  grasp  its 
import,  for  her  mind  was  in  a  daze.  The  vertigo  had 
returned,  the  whole  cellar  whirled  again,  and  a  streak 
of  fire  danced  close  before  her  eyes. 

But  she  still  clung  to  the  belief  that  God  was  offering 
her  a  means  of  escape  from  this  world,  so  that  she 


8o  THE  HOLY  CITY 

could  go  to  her  mother  in  heaven,  and  be  free  from  all 
sorrow. 

Then  she  stepped  out  into  the  sunshine  as  calmly  as 
though  she  were  walking  up  the  aisle  at  church.  She  felt 
a  little  cooler  now,  and  coming  out,  she  saw  no  pursuers,  or 
gleaming  spears,  or  red-hot  arrows. 

She  had  not  gone  many  steps,  however,  before  they 
were  after  her  again,  as  if  they  had  come  rushing  from 
ambush.  Everything  on  the  earth  glittered  and  flashed 
while  from  behind  the  sun  shot  piercing  rays  at  her  neck. 
Suddenly  she  fell  to  the  ground  as  if  struck  by  lightning. 

A  few  hours  later  some  one  from  the  colony  found  her 
lying  in  the  road  with  one  hand  pressed  aginst  her  heart 
and  the  other  hand  stretched  out  clutching  a  letter,  as  if 
to  show  what  had  killed  her. 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 

ON  THE  day  that  Gunhild  died  Gertrude  hap 
pened  to  be  walking  in  one  of  the  broad  streets 
of  the  western  suburb.  She  had  gone  out  to 
buy  some  buttons  and  tape,  but  not  being  well  acquainted 
with  that  locality  she  had  to  tramp  about  a  long  while 
to  find  what  she  wanted.  She  had  not  yet  seen  much  of 
Jerusalem  and  was  in  no  haste  to  get  back  to  the  colony. 
She  had  come  away  from  Sweden  with  a  limited  supply 
of  clothing,  and  had  therefore  been  obliged  to  stay  in 
doors  most  of  the  time  since  her  arrival,  sewing  for  her 
self. 

When  Gertrude  went  about  in  the  Holy  City  there 
was  always  a  happy  smile  upon  her  face.  She  must  have 
felt  the  terrible  heat  and  blighting  sunshine,  but  they 
did  not  seem  to  affect  her  as  they  did  others.  She  could 
hardly  take  a  step  without  thinking  that  Jesus  had 
walked  on  the  very  ground  where  she  was  now  walking, 
and  that  His  gaze  had  often  rested  on  the  hills  she  glimpsed 
in  the  distance.  The  heat  and  the  dust  must  have  been 
rather  trying  to  Him,  too,  just  as  they  were  to  her.  These 
thoughts  brought  Him  so  near  that'  all  sense  of  discom 
fort  was  dispelled  by  a  feeling  of  blissful  gladness. 

What  had  made  Gertrude  so  happy  since  coming  to 
Palestine  was  this  sense  of  being  so  much  nearer  to  Jesus 

83 


84  THE  HOLY  CITY 

than  before.  It  never  entered  her  mind  that  nearly  two 
thousand  years  had  elapsed  since  He  wandered  here  with 
His  disciples.  She  went  about  blissfully  imagining  that 
He  had  been  here  only  a  short  time  ago;  she  seemed 
to  see  His  footprints  on  the  ground  and  to  hear  the 
echo  of  His  voice  in  the  streets. 

Going  down  the  steep  hill  leading  to  the  Jaffa  gate, 
she  met  a  party  of  some  two  hundred  Russian  pilgrims 
coming  up  the  street;  they  had  tramped  around- in  the 
hot  sun  for  hours,  visiting  the  holy  places  outside  Jeru 
salem,  and  were  so  tired  and  spent  they  had  hardly 
strength  enough  left  to  drag  themselves  up  to  the  Rus 
sian  hospice  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Gertrude  stopped  to  look  at  them  as  they  passed. 
They  were  simple  folk,  and  she  was  surprised  to  see  how 
like  they  were  to  her  own  people  in  their  wadmal  coats 
and  knitted  jackets.  "This  must  be  a  whole  parish 
come  in  a  body  to  Jerusalem,"  thought  she.  "The  man 
with  the  spectacles  far  down  on  his  nose  is  the  school 
master,  and  the  one  with  the  big  stick  owns  a  large  farm 
and  rules  the  whole  parish.  The  one  over  there,  who 
carries  himself  so  erect,  is  an  old  soldier,  and  that  chap 
with  the  narrow  chest  and  the  long  thin  hands  is  the 
village  tailor." 

She  was  in  a  cheerful  mood  and  from  force  of  habit 
made  up  little  stories  about  the  people  she  saw.  "The 
old  woman  with  the  silk  kerchief  on  her  head  is  rich, "  she 
mused,  "but  she  wouldn't  go  away  from  home  until  her 
sons  and  daughters  were  married  and  settled  in  life  and 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       85 

she  had  helped  bring  up  her  grandchildren.  The  bent 
old  woman  walking  next  to  her,  carrying  a  little  bundle,  is 
very  poor.  She  has  had  to  toil  hard  and  stint  all  her 
life  to  lay  by  the  money  for  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem. " 

Only  to  see  these  people  was  to  like  them.  Hot  and 
dusty  though  they  were,  they  looked  serenely  happy. 
There  was  not  a  cloud  of  discontent  on  any  face.  "How 
good  and  patient  they  must  be!"  thought  Gertrude, 
"and  how  great  their  love  for  Jesus,  since  they  are  so 
glad  to  be  wandering  about  in  His  land  that  they  don't 
seem  to  mind  discomfort." 

At  the  end  of  the  procession  came  a  few  who  seemed 
too  utterly  exhausted  to  keep  up.  It  was  touching  to 
see  their  comrades  turn  back  to  help  them  up  the  hill. 
Last  of  all  came  a  girl  of  about  seventeen,  who  was  almost 
the  only  young  person  among  them — the  others  being 
mostly  either  elderly  or  middle-aged  people.  Gertrude 
thought  the  young  girl,  like  herself,  had  suffered  some 
great  sorrow,  which  had  rendered  life  at  home  unbear 
able.  Perhaps  she,  too,  had  seen  Jesus  in  the  forest  and 
had  been  told  by  Him  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land. 

The  young  woman  looked  ill.  She  was  slight  of  build 
and  her  coarse  heavy  clothes,  more  especially  the  thick 
clumsy  boots  which  she,  like  all  the  other  women,  wore 
seemed  to  tire  her  greatly.  She  would  take  a  few  falter 
ing  steps,  and  then  stand  still  to  recover  her  breath. 
Continually  stopping  thus  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  the 
girl  was  in  danger  of  being  knocked  down  by  a  camel 
or  run  over  by  a  passing  wagon. 


86  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Feeling  that  she  ought  to  help  her,  Gertrude  hastened 
forward  and  put  her  arm  around  the  girl's  waist,  to  sup 
port  her.  The  girl  looked  at  her  wearily;  she  accepted 
the  support  almost  unconsciously,  letting  herself  be 
dragged  along. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  older  women  happened  to 
turn  round;  she  scowled  at  Gertrude,  and  shouted  some 
thing  in  a  sharp  tone  to  the  sick  girl,  who  instantly  drew 
herself  up,  pushed  Gertrude  aside  and  tried  to  walk  on 
alone. 

Gertrude  could  not  comprehend  why  the  girl  should 
behave  like  that.  She  wondered  if  it  was  because  the 
Russians  were  unwilling  to  accept  aid  from  a  stranger. 
The  girl  halted  again,  and  Gertrude  ran  back  and  once 
more  put  an  arm  round  her.  At  that,  a  look  of  loathing 
came  over  the  young  woman's  face  and,  tearing  herself 
free,  she  struck  at  Gertrude  and  attempted  to  run  away 
from  her. 

Then  Gertrude  saw  that  the  poor  soul  was  actually 
afraid  of  her,  and  knew  at  once  it  was  on  account  of  the 
base  slanders  that  had  been  circulated  about  the  Gor- 
donites.  She  was  both  grieved  and  angry.  The  only 
thing  she  could  do  now  was  to  leave  the  girl  alone,  so 
as  not  to  frighten  her  still  more.  Following  her  with  her 
eyes,  she  noticed  that  the  girl,  in  her  confusion  and  fright, 
ran  straight  toward  a  team  that  was  coming  down  the 
hill  at  top  speed.  Gertrude  saw,  to  her  horror,  that  she 
would  certainly  be  run  over. 

She  tried  to  shut  her  eyes  to  it  all;   but  she  seemed  to 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       87 

have  lost  control  of  herself,  and  could  not  even  lower 
her  eye-lids.  So  she  stood  there  with  wide-open  eyes 
and  saw  the  horses  run  straight  against  the  girl  and 
knock  her  down.  Immediately  the  fine  intelligent  animals 
backed,  planted  their  hoofs  firmly  on  the  ground,  so  as 
to  take  the  full  weight  of  the  down-coming  wagon;  then 
quickly  swerving  to  one  side,  they  went  around  without 
hoof  or  wheel  having  touched  the  girl. 

As  the  young  Russian  woman  remained  lying  on  the 
ground  without  moving,  Gertrude  supposed  she  had 
fainted  from  fright.  People  came  running  from  all  sides, 
but  Gertrude  being  the  first  to  reach  her,  bent  down  to 
help  her  up.  Then  she  saw  blood  oozing  from  a  wound 
in  the  girl's  head,  and  noticed  that  her  features  were 
becoming  strangely  rigid.  "She  is  dead!"  gasped  Ger 
trude.  "And  it's  all  my  fault!" 

A  man  rudely  thrust  her  aside.  He  roared  something 
at  her,  which  she  understood  to  mean  that  so  vile  a  crea 
ture  as  herself  was  not  fit  to  touch  this  pious  young  pil 
grim.  Instantly  the  man's  cry  was  taken  up  on  all  sides. 
Threatening  hands  were  raised  against  her;  she  was 
pushed  and  elbowed  out  of  the  crowd  that  had  gathered 
about  the  girl. 

Gertrude  clenched  her  hands,  indignant  at  this  treat 
ment.  She  wanted  to  fight  her  way  back  to  find  out 
whether  the  girl  was  alive  or  dead.  "It  is  not  I  who  am 
unworthy  to  approach  her,"  she  cried  out  in  Swedish, 
"it  is  you — all  of  you!  It  is  you  who  have  killed  her. 
Your  slandering  tongues  sent  her  to  her  death!" 


88  THE  HOLY  CITY 

No  one  understood  a  word  of  what  she  said  and  her 
anger  soon  gave  way  to  a  paralyzing  dread.  What  if 
someone  had  seen  how  it  all  happened  and  should  tell 
the  others  about  it!  Then  all  these  people  would  surely 
fall  upon  her  and  beat  her  to  death,  she  thought. 

Gertrude  hurriedly  fled  from  the  scene,  though  no 
one  was  pursuing  her,  never  once  stopping  until  she  had 
reached  the  lonely  district  outside  the  northern  limits 
of  the  city.  Then  she  stood  still  a  moment  and  pressed 
her  clenched  hands  against  her  forehead. 

"O  God  in  Heaven!"  she  exclaimed.  "Am  I  respon 
sible  for  the  death  of  a  fellow-being?" 

She  turned  toward  Jerusalem,  whose  high  dark  wall 
rose  before  her.  "No!"  she  cried,  "not  I,  but  you!  Not 
I,  but  you!"  With  a  shudder,  she  turned  away  from  the 
city  to  go  back  to  the  Colony  House,  the  roof  of  which 
she  could  see  in  the  distance.  Time  after  time  she 
stopped  and  tried  to  untangle  the  thoughts  that  crowded 
in  upon  her. 

When  Gertrude  came  to  Palestine  she  said  to  herself: 
"Here  I  am  in  my  Lord  and  King's  own  country,  under 
His  special  protection;  here  no  harm  can  come  to  me." 
She  had  lulled  herself  into  the  belief  that  Christ  had  com 
manded  her  to  come  to  His  Holy  Land  because  He  felt 
that  she  had  known  so  great  a  sorrow  that  there  was  no 
further  need  for  her  to  suffer  in  this  life  and  that  she  was 
henceforth  to  live  in  peace  and  safety. 

But  now  Gertrude  felt  as  one  living  in  a  strongly  forti 
fied  city  who  suddenly  sees  the  protecting  walls  and  battle- 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       89 

ments  fall.  She  saw  that  she  was  defenseless.  Between 
her  and  aggressive  evil  there  was  no  bulwark.  It  seemed 
as  if  misfortune  could  strike  harder  here  than  elsewhere. 

She  promptly  dismissed  the  thought  that  she  was  to 
blame  for  the  death  of  the  young  Russian  woman;  she 
would  not  have  that  on  her  conscience.  Yet  she  felt 
a  vague  fear  of  the  harm  this  happening  might  cause  her. 
"I  shall  always  see  those  horses  bearing  down  upon 
her!"  she  said,  "and  I  can  never  be  happy  any  more." 

A  doubt  arose  in  her  which  she  instantly  tried  to  stifle, 
but  which  came  up  again  and  again.  She  wondered 
why  Christ  had  sent  her  to  this  land.  Of  course  she  knew 
it  was  very  wrong  of  her  to  question  this,  but  she  could 
not  help  it.  What  had  He  meant  by  sending  her  here  ? " 

"Dear  Lord,  I  thought  that  you  loved  me  and  would  do 
everything  for  my  good.  I  was  so  happy  in  the  faith 
that  you  protected  me!" 

When  Gertrude  got  back  to  the  colony  a  strange  still 
ness  and  solemnity  pervaded  the  place.  The  lad  who 
opened  the  gate  looked  uncommonly  grave,  and  com 
ing  into  the  courtyard  she  noticed  that  everyone  moved 
about  very  quietly  and  spoke  only  in  whispers.  "Death 
has  entered  this  house,"  she  thought,  before  anyone  had 
said  a  word. 

She  soon  learned  that  Gunhild  had  been  found  lying 
dead  at  the  roadside  and  that  her  body  had  been  brought 
home  and  placed  on  a  bier  in  the  basement.  She  knew 
that  in  the  East  the  dead  must  be  buried  very  quickly, 
yet  she  was  horrified  to  find  that  preparations  for  the 


90  THE  HOLY  CITY 

funeral  were  already  under  way.  Tims  Halvor  and 
Ljung  Bjorn  were  making  a  coffin  and  two  of  the  old 
women  were  dressing  the  body.  Mrs.  Gordon  had  gone 
to  see  the  superintendent  of  an  American  mission  to 
ask  for  a  permit  to  bury  Gunhild  in  the  American  Ceme 
tery.  Gabriel  and  Bo,  each  with  his  spade,  stood 
waiting  in  the  courtyard  for  Mrs.  Gordon's  return — 
ready  to  go  dig  the  grave.  Gertrude  went  down  to  the 
basement.  She  stood  a  long  time  looking  at  Gunhild, 
then  broke  into  violent  sobs.  She  had  always  been  very 
fond  of  the  girl  who  now  lay  dead,  and  as  she  gazed  at  the 
still,  white  face  of  her  friend,  it  came  to  her  that  neither 
she,  Gertrude,  nor  any  of  the  others  had  ever  given  to 
Gunhild  the  love  she  had  merited.  Everyone  knew  that 
she  was  honest  and  kind  and  truth-loving;  but  she  had 
made  life  a  burden  to  herself  and  to  others,  by  attaching 
too  much  importance  to  trifles,  and  that  had  turned  people 
against  her.  Remembering  this,  Gertrude  felt  that  it 
had  been  terribly  hard  for  poor  Gunhild. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  crying  and  regarded  Gunhild  in 
fear  and  trembling.  There  was  a  look  on  the  face  of  the 
dead — a  look  it  had  worn  in  life,  when  the  girl  had  pon 
dered  over  something  perplexing. 

Then  she  stole  softly  out  ofthe  room.  The  questioning 
look  on  Gunhild's  face  reminded  her  of  her  own  doubts 
and  fears.  She  fancied  that  Gunhild  also  wondered  why 
Jesus  had  sent  her  to  this  land. 

When  Gertrude  returned  to  the  courtyard  Bo  came  up 
and  asked  her  to  go  talk  to  Gabriel.  She  stared  vacantly 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       91 

at  him,  for  she  was  so  completely  absorbed  by  her  own 
thoughts  that  she  did  not  even  know  what  he  was  saying. 

"It  was  Gabriel  who  found  Gunhild,"  Bo  told  her. 

Gertrude  did  not  hear  him;  she  was  still  wondering 
why  Gunhild  had  that  look  on  her  face. 

"It  was  a  terrible  shock  to  poor  Gabriel  to  find  her 
lying  dead  in  the  road/'  Bo  went  on,  "as  he  was  coming 
along  never  dreaming  of  what  had  happened."  As  Ger 
trude  did  not  yet  appear  to  understand,  he  said  in  a  voice 
that  shook  with  emotion:  "If  I  were  to  find  somebody 
that  I  cared  a  lot  about  lying  dead  on  the  ground,  I  don't 
know  what  would  become  of  me." 

Gertrude  looked  as  one  who  had  just  come  out  of  a 
dream.  Why,  to  be  sure,  she  knew  of  old  that  Gabriel 
was  fond  of  Gunhild.  They  would  have  been  married 
but  for  this  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem;  they  had  decided 
to  come  to  Palestine,  though  it  meant  that  they  could 
never  be  husband  and  wife.  And  now  Gabriel  had  found 
Gunhild  lying  dead  in  the  roadway! 

"It  would  be  well  for  Gabriel  if  he  could  have  a  good 
cry,"  Bo  whispered  to  her. 

Gertrude  then  went  over  to  Gabriel,  who  was  standing 
at  the  gate  with  eyes  fixed,  and  with  lips  compressed- 
working  his  spade  in  and  out  between  two  stones. 

She  silently  gave  Gabriel  her  hand,  as  one  does  to  the 
bereaved  at  a  funeral.  His  hand  lay  cold  and  impassive 
in  hers. 

"Bo  tells  me  it  was  you  who  found  her,"  she  said;  Ga 
briel  never  moved. 


92  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"It  was  hard  for  you,"  she  continued,  while  Gabriel 
stood  like  a  figure  in  stone.  Then  Gertrude  at  last 
realized  what  his  grief  must  be.  "I  think  Gunhild  would 
have  been  glad  had  she  known  it  was  you  who  found 
her." 

Gabriel  started.  "Do  you  think  she  would  have  been 
glad  of  that?"  he  asked,  looking  hard  at  Gertrude. 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"I  carried  her  home  as  tenderly  as  I  could,"  said 
Gabriel  quietly. 

"I'm  sure  you  did,"  Gertrude  replied. 

Then  Gabriel's  lips  began  to  quiver  and  all  at  once  the 
tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  He  leaned  his  head  against 
the  gate-post,  and  sobbed  violently.  Gertrude  and  Bo 
stood  silently  by  and  let  him  weep.  In  a  while  when 
he  had  grown  calmer,  he  went  over  to  Gertrude  and  gave 
her  his  hand. 

"Thank  you  for  making  me  cry,"  he  said  in  a  soft 
steady  voice.  It  seemed  as  if  his  father,  old  Hok  Matts, 
were  speaking.  "Now  Pm  going  to  show  you  something 
I  had  meant  never  to  let  anyone  see.  When  I  found 
Gunhild,  her  hand  was  clutched  round  this  letter,  of 
which  I  took  possession,  thinking  I  had  every  right  to 
it.  It  is  from  her  father.  As  both  of  you  have  parents 
back  home,  I  want  you  to  read  it." 

Gertrude  read  the  letter;  then  looked  at  Gabriel.  "So 
that  was  the  cause  of  her  death,"  she  said. 

Gabriel  nodded. 

Gertrude  cried  out  in  despair:     "O  Jerusalem!     Jeru- 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       93 
salem!    thou  wilt  kill  us  all!     I  fear  God  has  forsaken 


us." 


Mrs.  Gordon  had  just  come  in  at  the  gate.  She  told 
Gabriel  and  Bo  to  go  at  once  to  the  burying  ground. 
Gertrude  straightway  went  into  the  house  and  to  the 
little  room  she  and  Gunhild  had  occupied  together, 
where  she  remained  in  solitude  the  whole  evening.  She 
was  in  a  state  of  terror  as  unconquerable  as  the  fear  of 
ghosts,  imagining  that  some  other  dreadful  thing  was 
going  to  happen  before  the  day  was  over.  At  the  same 
time  she  was  filled  with  doubt.  "I  don't  know  why  the 
Lord  sent  us  here,"  she  thought.  "We  bring  disaster 
and  misery  to  ourselves  and  to  others." 

Then  for  a  moment  she  seemed  to  conquer  her  doubts, 
but  she  presently  found  herself  enumerating  the  different 
ones  to  whom  the  pilgrimage  had  brought  misfortune. 
They  had  all  been  so  certain  it  was  God's  will  they  should 
come  to  Palestine.  Then  why  had  their  coming  resulted 
in  nothing  but  misery? 

She  had  taken  out  pen  and  paper  to  write  to  her  par 
ents.  "What  could  I  say  to  make  them  understand?" 
she  wondered.  "If  I  were  to  lie  down  and  die  like  Gun 
hild,  then  perhaps  they  would  believe  me,  if  I  wrote  that 


we  were  innocent/ 


Night  came,  but  Gertrude  was  too  unhappy  for  sleep. 
She  saw  continually  before  her  Gunhild's  brooding  face 
and  became  convinced  that  her  friend  had  died  with  the 
same  question  on  her  lips  that  she  herself  was  striving 
to  solve. 


94  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Before  dawn  Gertrude  arose  and  dressed  to  go  out. 
She  seemed  to  have  got  so  far  away  from  Christ  that 
she  hardly  knew  how  she  should  find  her  way  back  to 
Him.  Now  she  longed  to  go  to  a  place  where  He  was 
known  to  have  walked  when  on  this  earth,  and  the  only 
spot  the  exact  location  of  which  had  never  been  disputed 
was  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Could  she  go  there,  she 
thought,  then  she  would  be  near  to  Him  again,  would  feel 
herself  overshadowed  by  His  love,  and  understand  His 
purpose  with  her. 

Coming  out  in  the  dense  darkness  that  precedes  the 
dawn,  her  fears  became  intensified;  again  and  again 
she  went  over  in  her  mind  all  the  sorrow  and  injustice 
which  the  past  day  alone  had  brought.  Then,  as  she 
went  up  the  hill,  a  marvellous  feeling  of  lightness  came  to 
her.  The  oppressive  burden  of  doubt  was  lifted  from  her 
soul,  and  she  seemed  to  see  the  meaning  of  it  all. 

When  such  injustice  was  allowed  to  have  its  sway, 
it  could  only  mean  that  the  Day  of  Judgment  was  at 
hand,  she  thought.  In  no  other  way  could  one  under 
stand  how  right  became  wrong  and  why  God  seemed 
powerless  to  prevent  evil;  why  the  righteous  must  suffer 
persecution  while  wrong-doers  went  unrebuked. 

Gertrude  stood  musing  a  moment.  Yes,  the  coming 
of  our  Lord  was  surely  at  hand,  and  soon  she  would  see 
Him  descending  from  Heaven.  In  the  light  of  this  it  was 
clear  to  her  why  they  had  been  summoned  to  Jerusalem. 
By  the  grace  of  God  she  and  her  friends  had  been  called 
hither  to  meet  Jesus.  She  clapped  her  hands  in  an 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING       95 

ecstasy  of  joy,  thinking  how  infinitely  wonderful  this 
was. 

Then  she  tripped  lightly  up  the  slope  to  the  highest 
point  of  the  mountain,  whence  Jesus  ascended  into 
Heaven.  She  could  not  enter  the  enclosed  part,  so  she 
stopped  just  outside,  and  looked  up  at  the  heavens, 
which  now  grew  light  in  the  sudden  break  of  dawn. 

"  Perhaps  He  will  come  this  very  day,"  she  thought, 
as  she  gazed  at  the  morning  sky,  covered  with  light, 
fleecy  clouds.  Gradually  these  clouds  became  tinged 
with  red,  the  brightness  of  which  was  reflected  in  Ger 
trude's  face.  "He  is  coming!"  she  cried.  "He  is  surely 
coming!" 

Watching  the  rosy  dawn,  as  if  seeing  it  for  the  first 
time,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  looking  right  into 
Heaven.  Away  in  the  east  she  saw  a  deep  arch  with 
high,  wide  gates,  which  she  expected  to  see  flung  wide- 
open  so  that  Christ  and  all  His  angels  could  pass  through. 

And  by  and  by  the  gate  of  the  East  did  open,  and  the 
sun  appeared. 

Gertrude  stood  in  rapt  expectation  while  the  sun  shed 
its  lustre  over  the  mountain-region  west  of  Jerusalem, 
where  a  range  of  hills  arose  like  waves  on  a  sea.  She 
stood  waiting  until  the  sun  had  mounted  so  high  that  its 
rays  gilded  the  cross  on  the  dome  of  the  Church  of  the 
Sepulchre. 

She  remembered  having  heard  that  Christ  would  come 
at  dawn  on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  saw  of  course 
that  He  would  not  appear  that  day.  Yet  she  was  neither 


96  THE  HOLY  CITY 

disheartened  nor  anxious.  "He  will  come  tomorrow 
instead,"  she  said  with  faith. 

When  Gertrude  returned  to  the  colony  she  was 
radiantly  happy.  She  did  not  tell  a  soul  of  the  glad  ex 
pectation  that  filled  her;  the  whole  day  she  went  about 
her  work  as  usual  and  spoke  only  of  commonplace 
things. 

The  next  morning  she  again  stood  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives  in  the  early  dawn.  And  morning  after  morning 
she  was  there,  for  she  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  see  Christ 
appear  in  the  glory  of  the  dawn. 

Gertrude's  wanderings  soon  became  a  subject  for 
comment  among  the  colonists,  who  begged  her  to  desist. 
They  told  her  it  would  harm  their  cause  if  she  were 
seen  kneeling  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  every  morning, 
waiting  for  the  Second  Coming;  that  if  she  went  on  doing 
so  people  would  soon  be  saying  that  the  colonists  were 
mad. 

The  girl  tried  to  be  obedient,  and  remain  at  home; 
but  each  morning,  on  awaking,  she  thought:  "Jesus 
may  come  this  very  day."  Then  nothing  could  stop 
her  from  hastening  to  meet  her  Lord  and  Saviour. 

This  expectation  had  become  part  of  herself;  she  could 
not  resist  it  or  release  herself  from  its  thrall.  In  other 
ways  she  was  quite  herself.  There  was  nothing  wrong 
with  her  brain;  she  was  merely  happier  and  gentler 
than  before. 

After  a  time  the  colonists  took  her  early  strolls  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  allowed  her  to  go  without  let  or 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING      97 

hindrance.  Each  morning  on  coming  out  she  would 
find  a  dark,  shadow-like  figure  waiting  in  the  archway 
of  the  gate,  and  on  going  up  the  mountain,  she  would 
hear  behind  her  the  clatter  of  iron-shod  heels.  She  never 
spoke  to  this  shadow,  but  she  always  felt  so  safe  when 
she  heard  the  firm  footsteps  of  the  one  who  followed 
her. 

Sometimes,  when  coming  down  the  mountain,  she 
ran  straight  into  Bo,  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a 
wall,  waiting  for  her,  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  of  doglike 
faithfulness.  Bo  would  blush  and  glance  away  and 
Gertrude  would  pass  on  as  though  she  had  not  seen  him. 


BARAM  PASHA 


BARAM  PASHA 

THE  colonists  were  exceedingly  pleased  that  they 
had  been  able  to  rent  the  fine  new  house  outside 
the  Damascus  gate,  which  was  large  enough 
to  accommodate  nearly  all  of  them,  so  that  only  one  or 
two  families  had  been  obliged  to  find  quarters  elsewhere. 
Besides,  it  was  a  pleasant  abode,  with  its  roof-terraces 
and  open  colonnades — a  delightful  retreat  in  the  hot 
summer  weather.  They  could  not  but  feel  they  had  been 
singularly  blessed  in  having  a  house  like  this  placed  at 
their  disposal,  for  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  them 
to  insure  comfort  and  keep  alive  the  community  spirit 
had  they  been  obliged  to  live  separately,  in  different  parts 
of  the  town. 

The  mansion  belonged  to  Baram  Pasha,  who  was  at 
that  time  Governor  of  Jerusalem.  It  was  built  for 
his  wife,  whom  he  loved  above  everything  in  this 
world.  He  had  felt  that  nothing  would  give  her  greater 
happiness  than  to  have  a  house  that  would  hold  their 
large  family  of  sons  and  daughters-in-law,  daughters 
and  sons-in-law,  the  grandchildren  and  the  retinue  of 
servants. 

But  when  the  home  was  ready  and  Baram  Pasha  and 
his  family  had  moved  in,  terrible  misfortune  befell  him. 

101 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

During  the  Erst  week  he  lived  there  one  of  his  daughters 
died,  the  second  week  another  daughter  followed,  and 
the  third  week  he  lost  his  beloved  wife.  Then  Baram 
Pasha,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  left  his  new  mansion,  had 
it  shut  up,  and  vowed  never  to  set  foot  in  it  again. 

The  palace  had  been  standing  empty  from  that  time 
until  the  Gordonites  in  the  spring  had  persuaded  -Baram 
Pasha  to  rent  it  to  them.  Everyone  was  surprised  at 
this,  for  they  had  all  supposed  that  Baram  Pasha  would 
never  allow  anyone  to  enter  his  abandoned  home. 

But  in  the  autumn,  when  the  foul  slander  against  the 
Gordonites  had  arisen,  some  American  missionaries 
consulted  together  as  to  what  had  best  be  done  to  make 
these  compatriots  of  theirs  leave  Jerusalem.  They 
finally  decided  to  go  straight  to  Baram  Pasha  and  tell 
him  about  his  tenants.  And  of  course  they  told  him  all 
the  vile  things  that  had  been  said  of  these  colonists  and 
asked  him  how  he  could  allow  such  disreputable  people 
to  occupy  the  house  he  built  for  his  wife. 

It  was  a  fine  November  morning.  The  long  night, 
which  had  wrapped  the  city  in  its  pall  of  darkness,  had 
flown,  and  Jerusalem  began  to  assume  its  usual  aspect. 
The  beggars  at  the  Damascus  gate  had  already  taken 
up  their  accustomed  places,  and  the  stray  dogs  that  had 
prowled  about  the  whole  night  now  went  back  to  their 
dunghills  and  caves  to  rest  for  the  day.  A  small  cara 
van  which  had  camped  for  the  night  just  within  the  gate, 
was  getting  ready  to  depart.  The  men  were  binding 


BARAM  PASHA  103 

the  bales  onto  the  backs  of  the  kneeling  camels,  that 
groaned  under  the  weight  of  their  heavy  burdens.  Out 
in  the  road  country-folk  came  hurrying  toward  the  city 
with  huge  baskets  filled  with  garden  truck.  Shepherds 
came  down  from  the  mountains  and  passed  solemnly  under 
the  archway,  followed  by  large  flocks  of  sheep,  which 
were  to  be  slaughtered,  and  herds  of  milch  goats  to  be 
milked. 

During  the  greatest  crush  at  the  gate,  an  old  man 
came  riding  through  on  a  fine  white  ass.  The  man  was 
richly  attired.  He  wore  a  tunic  of  fine,  soft  striped  silk, 
and  over  it  a  long  wide  caftan  of  pale-blue  brocade  trimmed 
with  fur,  and  his  turban  and  his  girdle  were  embroi 
dered  in  gold.  His  face  must  once  have  been  handsome 
and  strong,  though  now  his  mouth  was  sunken,  his  eyes 
were  watery,  and  his  long  white  beard  was  scraggly  and 
yellowed  at  the  points. 

All  who  thronged  the  gateway  were  astonished,  and 
said  to  one  another:  "Why  does  the  Baram  Pasha  ride 
through  the  Gate  of  Damascus  into  the  road  he  has 
not  wanted  to  look  upon  these  three  years?" 

Others  said:  "Is  the  Baram  Pasha  riding  out  to  his 
house,  which  he  has  sworn  never  to  enter?" 

As  the  pasha  rode  past  the  crowd  at  the  gateway  he 
said  to  the  servant  who  accompanied  him:  "Dost 
thou  mark,  Machmud,  that  all  whom  we  meet  are  sur 
prised  and  say  among  themselves:  'What  is  in  the 
air?  Shall  the  Baram  Pasha  ride  out  to  his  house,  which 
he  has  not  visited  in  three  years  ? ' ' 


io4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

The  servant  answered  that  he  had  noticed  that  the 
people  were  surprised. 

Then  said  Baram  Pasha,  with  great  indignation:  "Do 
they  think  I  am  so  old  that  people  may  do  with  me  what 
they  like?  Do  they  think  I  will  tolerate  having  these 
foreigners  lead  a  life  of  shame  in  the  house  I  built  for 
my  wife?" 

Machmud,  endeavouring  to  allay  his  rage,  said:  "Good 
Master,  hast  thou  forgotten  that  this  is  not  the  first  time 
thou  hast  heard  the  Christians  slander  each  other?" 

Baram  Pasha  then  raised  his  arms  and  cried  out  in  his 
anger:  "Pipers  and  dancing-women  consort  together  in 
the  rooms  where  my  loved  ones  died!  Before  the  sun 
goes  down  this  day  these  evil-doers  shall  be  driven  out 
from  my  house." 

As  the  old  pasha  said  that,  a  little  band  of  school  chil 
dren  came  tripping  down  the  road,  two  by  two.  He 
noticed  that  they  were  unlike  all  other  children  seen  in 
the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  for  they  had  clean  hands  and 
faces,  their  clothes  were  neat  and  whole  and  their  hair 
was  smoothly  combed. 

Baram  Pasha  stopped  his  donkey  and  said  to  his  ser 
vant:  "Go  ask  them  who  they  are." 

"I  need  not  ask  who  they  are,"  replied  the  servant, 
"for  I  see  them  here  every  day.  They  are  the  children 
of  the  Gordonites  who  are  on  their  way  to  the  school 
their  people  have  established  in  the  city  in  the  old 
place  where  they  lived  before  they  rented  thy  great 
house." 


BARAM  PASHA  105 

While  the  pasha  still  sat  looking  after  the  children  two 
men  came  pulling  a  cart,  in  which  the  smaller  children 
sat,  those  who  were  too  young  to  walk  to  school.  The 
little  ones  clapped  their  hands  for  joy  at  the  ride  and  the 
men  who  drew  the  cart  laughed  and  ran  faster  to  please 
them. 

Then  the  servant  took  courage,  and  said:  "Dost 
thou  not  see,  Master,  that  these  children  must  have 
good  parents?" 

But  Baram  Pasha,  like  most  old  people,  was  obstinate 
in  his  anger.  "I  have  heard  what  their  own  country 
men  say  of  them,"  he  said,  "and  I  tell  thee  that  before 
nightfall  they  shall  be  turned  from  my  house." 

Farther  down  the  road  they  came  upon  some  women 
in  European  dress  who  were  also  going  toward  the  city. 
They  walked  along  quietly  and  sedately.  Their  clothes 
were  neat,  but  plain,  and  they  carried  heavy,  well-filled 
baskets. 

Baram  Pasha  turned  to  his  servant  and  bade -him  go 
ask  them  who  they  were. 

The  servant  answered:  "There  is  no  need  to  ask, 
Master,  for  I  meet  them  every  day.  They  are  women 
of  the  Gordon  Colony  on  their  way  to  Jerusalem  with 
food  and  medicine  for  the  sick  who  are  not  able  to  go 
out  to  the  colony  to  get  help." 

Baram  Pasha  said:  "Though  they  hide  their  sins  under 
angels'  wings,  yet  will  I  drive  them  from  my  house." 

He  rode  on  toward  the  big  mansion,  and  when  nearing 
it,  he  heard  the  murmur  of  many  voices  and  now  and 


106  THE  HOLY  CITY 

then  a  piercing  cry.  Turning  to  his  servant,  he  said: 
"Hearest  thou  the  noise  the  musicians  and  dancing- 
girls  are  making  in  my  house  ? " 

But,  as  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  he  saw 
many  people,  sick  and  full  of  sores,  sitting  huddled 
together  at  the  entrance  gate  to  his  house;  they  were 
talking  with  each  other  about  their  sufferings,  and  one 
or  two  moaned  loudly.  The  servant  Machmud  took 
heart,  and  said: 

"See,  these  are  the  musicians  and  dancing-girls  whom 
thou  didst  hear  revelling  in  thy  house!  They  come  here 
every  day  to  consult  the  physicians  of  the  Gordon  Col 
ony,  and  to  have  their  sores  dressed  by  the  colony's 


nurses." 


Baram  Pasha  answered:  "I  see  that  these  Gordon- 
kes  have  bewitched  thee,  but  I  am  too  old  to  be  deceived 
by  their  tricks.  I  tell  thee,  if  I  had  the  power,  I  would 
hang  every  one  of  them  from  the  eaves-course  round 
my  house."  He  was  still  in  a  ferment  of  anger  when  he 
dismounted  and  went  up  the  steps. 

As  the  old  pasha  entered  the  courtyard,  a  tall,  stately 
woman  bowred  to  him.  Although  her  hair  was  white, 
the  woman  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  forty  years 
old.  Her  face  expressed  rare  intelligence  and  authority, 
and  though  she  was  simply  attired,  in  a  plain  black  gown, 
one  could  see  that  she  was  accustomed  to  rule  over  many 
people. 

Baram  Pasha  now  turned  to  Machmud  and  said  to 
him:  "This  woman  looks  as  good  and  as  wise  as  Kadid- 


BARAM  PASHA  107 

scha,  the  wife  of  the  Prophet.  What  is  she  doing  in  this 
house?" 

And  Machmud,  his  servant,  answered:  "It  is  Mrs. 
Gordon,  who  has  been  at  the  head  of  the  colony  since 
the  death  of  her  husband  in  the  spring." 

Then  the  old  man's  anger  rose  again,  and  in  a  hard 
voice  he  bade  Machmud  tell  her  he  had  come  to  turn 
her  and  her  people  out  of  his  house. 

But  the  servant  said  to  him:  "Shall  the  just  Baram 
Pasha  drive  these  Christians  out  merely  because  he  has 
heard  their  brethren  vilify  them?  Master,  would  it  not 
be  better  to  say  to  this  woman,  'I  have  come  hither  to 
inspect  my  house'?  Shouldst  thou  find  that  they  lead 
the  sort  of  life  the  missionaries  say  they  do,  then  tell  her 
that  she  and  those  with  her  must  leave  this  place,  that 
no  abomination  will  be  tolerated  in  the  house  where  thy 
dear  ones  have  lived. " 

Then  said  Baram  Pasha:  "Tell  her  that  I  would  in 
spect  my  house." 

Machmud  interpreted  this  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  she 
replied : 

"It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  us  to  show  Baram  Pasha  how 
we  have  fitted  up  his  fine  mansion." 

Mrs.  Gordon  sent  for  Miss  Young,  who  had  lived  in 
Jerusalem  from  childhood  and  spoke  Arabic  like  a  native, 
and  asked  her  to  conduct  the  pasha  through  the  building. 

Baram  Pasha  took  the  arm  of  his  servant  and  followed 
her.  As  he  wished  to  see  the  whole  house,  Miss  Young 
first  took  him  into  the  basement,  to  the  laundry,  and 


io8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

proudly  showed  him  the  huge  piles  of  freshly-laundered 
linen,  the  big  boilers  and  the  busy  workers  at  their  wash- 
tubs  and  ironing-boards. 

Then  Miss  Young  conducted  Baram  Pasha  into  the 
adjoining  room,  which  was  the  bakery.  "See,"  she  said, 
"what  a  splendid  oven  our  brothers  have  built  for  us, 
and  what  excellent  bread  we  ourselves  make." 

From  there  they  went  to  the  carpenter-shop,  where 
a  couple  of  old  men  were  at  work.  Miss  Young  showed 
Baram  Pasha  some  plain  chairs  and  tables  made  by 
them. 

"Oh,  Machmud,  I  fear  these  people  are  too  deep  for 
me!"  the  old  pasha  said  in  Turkish,  which  he  supposed 
Miss  Young  would  not  understand.  "They  must  have 
been  warned  by  their  spies,  and  were  prepared  for  my 
visit.  I  had  expected  to  find  them  drinking  wine  and 
throwing  dice.  And  now  I  see  them  all  at  work." 

Thereupon  they  went  through  the  kitchen  and  the 
sewing-room  and  presently  came  to  another  room,  the 
door  of  which  was  opened  with  a  certain  ceremony.  It 
was  the  weaving-room,  where  looms  clattered  and  spin 
ning  wheels  and  carders  were  in  full  swing. 

Again  Baram  Pasha's  servant  took  courage,  and  called 
his  master's  attention  to  the  firm,  strong  cloth  they  were 
making  here.  "Excellency,"  said  he,  "these  are  no 
flimsy  fabrics  for  dancing-girls  or  airy  garments  for  friv 
olous  women." 

Baram  Pasha  made  no  response.  Wherever  he  looked 
he  saw  only  persons  with  earnest,  thoughtful  faces  intent 


BARAM  PASHA  109 

upon  their  work.  But  instantly  he  entered  a  room  a 
smile  lighted  up  the  faces  of  these  serious  toilers. 

"I  am  telling  them,"  Miss  Young  explained,  "that 
you  are  the  good  Governor  who  allows  us  to  occupy  this 
beautiful  house,  and  they  wish  me  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  to  us." 

All  the  while  Baram  Pasha  had  a  stern,  hard  look 
on  his  face.  As  he  did  not  respond,  Miss  Young  began 
to  feel  uneasy,  and  said  to  herself:  "Why  does  he  not 
speak  to  me?  Can  he  have  turned  against  us?" 

She  conducted  the  pasha  through  the  long,  narrow 
dining  rooms,  where  they  were  clearing  the  tables  and 
washing  the  breakfast  dishes.  Here,  too,  he  saw  only 
strict  orderliness  and  simplicity. 

His  servant  Machmud  once  more  took  courage,  and 
said  to  him:  "Master,  how  should  it  be  possible  for 
these  people  who  toil  all  day,  who  bake  their  own  bread 
and  make  their  own  clothes,  to  transform  themselves 
at  night  into  pipers  and  dancers?" 

Baram  Pasha  could  not  answer  him.  He  continued 
his  tour  of  inspection,  determined  to  see  every  part  of 
his  house.  He  went  into  the  large  dormitory  of  the 
unmarried  men,  with  its  rows  of  plain  beds  all  made,  then 
into  the  various  family  apartments,  where  parents  and 
children  could  be  together.  In  all  these  rooms  he  saw 
well-scoured  floors,  light  wood  furniture,  with  coverings 
of  checked  cotton,  white  bed-hangings  and  home-woven 
floor-mats. 

Baram   Pasha  looked  only  the  more  displeased.     He 


i  io  THE  HOLY  CITY 

said  to  Machmud:  "These  Christians  are  far  too  wary 
for  me.  They  know  only  too  well  how  to  cover  up  their 
sinful  lives.  I  expected  to  see  the  floors  strewn  with 
cigar  ashes  and  fruit  parings,  and  to  find  the  women 
sitting  gossiping,  while  they  smoked  their  narghiles  or 
tinted  their  nails." 

Finally  he  ascended  the  beautiful  white  marble  stair 
case  to  the  meeting-hall,  which  had  once  been  the  pasha's 
reception-room,  and  which  was  now  furnished  in  the 
American  fashion,  with  comfortable  chairs  round  the 
tables,  on  which  were  books  and  periodicals,  a  piano, 
and  an  organ,  and  here  and  there  on  the  light-painted 
walls  hung  a  photograph. 

Here  they  were  again  received  by  Mrs.  Gordon.  Now 
the  Baram  Pasha  said  to  his  servant:  "Tell  her  that  be 
fore  night  she  and  her  followers  must  leave  this  house." 

Machmud  the  servant  replied:  "Master,  one  of  these 
women  can  speak  thy  native  language.  Let  her  hear 
from  thine  own  lips  what  is  thy  will." 

Baram  Pasha  then  raised  his  eyes  to  Miss  Young,  who 
met  his  gaze  with  a  sweet  smile.  Turning  to  his  servant, 
he  said:  "I  have  never  beheld  a  face  dowered  by  the 
Almighty  with  greater  purity  and  beauty.  I  dare  not  tell 
her  I  have  heard  that  her  people  have  fallen  into  sin  and 
wantonness." 

Baram  Pasha  sank  down  on  a  chair  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  while  he  tried  to  make  out  which 
was  true — what  he  had  heard  or  what  he  had  seen. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  softly  and  into  the  room 


BARAM  PASHA  in 

came  a  poor  old  pilgrim  in  a  shabby  gray  mantle,  his  legs 
swathed  with  rags.  On  his  head  was  a  soiled  turban, 
the  green  colour  of  which  denoted  that  he  was  a  descend 
ant  of  Mohammed. 

Taking  no  notice  of  the  pasha,  the  man  went  and  sat 
down  on  a  chair  a  little  apart  from  the  others. 

"Who  is  that  man,  and  what  does  he  here?"  asked 
Baram  Pasha,  turning  to  Miss  Young. 

"We  do  not  know  him,"  Miss  Young  replied.  "He 
has  never  been  here  before.  You  must  not  mind  his 
coming  in.  Our  house  stands  open  to  any  and  everyone 
who  wishes  to  take  refuge  here." 

"Machmud,"  said  the  pasha  to  his  servant,  "go  ask 
this  descendant  of  the  Prophet  what  he  seeks  here  among 
these  Christians?" 

In  a  moment  the  servant  came  back  to  the  pasha: 
"He  says  that  he  seeks  nothing  here,  but  he  would  not 
pass  by  this  house  without  coming  in,  because  it  is  writ 
ten  :  'Commit  not  the  sin  of  letting  thy  feet  stray  past 
the  dwelling  of  the  righteous."1 

For  a  long  time  Baram  Pasha  was  silent.  Presently 
he  said  to  his  servant:  "Thou  canst  not  have  heard 
aright,  Machmud.  Go,  ask  him  again  what  he  wants 
in  this  house." 

Machmud  did  as  he  was  told  and  again  came  back  with 
the  same  answer,  which  he  repeated  word  for  word. 

"Let  us  thank  God,  friend  Machmud,"  said  Baram 
Pasha  humbly,  "for  He  hath  sent  this  man  to  enlighten 
us.  He  hath  guided  his  footsteps  hither  that  mine  eyes 


ii2  THE  HOLY  CITY 

might  be  opened  to  the  truth.  We  ride  back  now,  friend 
Machmud.  I  shall  not  turn  these  good  Christians  out 
of  their  home." 

Shortly  afterwards  Baram  Pasha  and  his  servant  rode 
away  from  the  colony;  but  within  an  hour  Machmud 
came  back,  leading  his  master's  beautiful  white  donkey, 
which  he  presented  to  the  colonists  with  the  compliments 
of  Baram  Pasha,  who  hoped  they  would  use  it  to  draw 
the  little  children  to  school. 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE3 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE" 

IT  WAS  near  the  end  of  February.  The  winter  rains 
were  over  and  spring  had  come.  As  yet  it  was 
not  very  far  advanced.  The  buds  on  the  fig  trees  had 
not  begun  to  swell  and  the  grape  leaves  had  not  come 
creeping  out  from  their  dark-brown  vines,  nor  had  the 
orange-blossoms  opened. 

But  what  had  dared  to  come  out  at  this  early  season 
were  the  little  field  flowers.  All  the  meadows  were 
spread  with  pinks  and  daisies  and  every  copse  was  thick 
with  crocuses  and  pasque-flowers;  large,  fiery-red  ane 
mones  covered  the  rocky  slopes  and  upon  every  ledge 
violets  and  cyclamen  blossomed. 

As  in  other  countries  one  goes  berrying,  so  in  Pales 
tine  one  goes  flower  gathering.  From  all  the  convents 
and  mission-stations  they  go  out  to  pick  flowers.  Poor 
members  of  the  Jewish  colony,  European  tourists  and 
Syrian  laborers  can  be  seen  every  day  down  in  the  wild 
rocky  dells  carrying  flower  baskets.  At  evening  these 
gatherers  return  to  the  city  laden  with  anemones  and 
hyacinths,  with  violets  and  tulips,  with  narcissi  and 
orchids. 

In  the  courtyards  of  the  many  hospices  and  cloisters 
of  the  Holy  City  stand  large  stone  basins  filled  with 

US 


ii6  THE  HOLY  CITY 

water,  in  which  the  flowers  are  placed,  and  in  rooms  and 
cells  busy  hands  spread  the  flowers  out  on  large  sheets 
of  paper  and  press  them. 

When  the  little  meadow  pinks,  anemones  and  hya 
cinths  are  well  flattened  and  dried,  they  are  made  up  in 
to  smaller  and  larger  bouquets — some  prettily  arranged, 
some  not — and  pasted  on  cards  and  in  small  albums  with 
covers  of  olive  wood,  upon  which  have  been  burnt: 
"Flowers  from  Palestine." 

And  then  all  these  flowers  from  Zion,  from  Hebron, 
from  the  Mount  of  Olives,  from  Jericho,  go  out  into  the 
wide  world.  They  are  sold  in  shops,  they  are  sent  in 
letters,  are  given  away  as  keepsakes  or  in  exchange  for 
gifts  of  charity.  Farther  than  India's  pearls  and  silks 
from  Brussa  do  these  little  field  blossoms  travel;  they 
are  the  only  things  the  poor  Holy  Land  is  rich  in. 

One  fine  spring  morning  the  whole  Gordon  Colony  was 
making  ready  to  go  flower  gathering.  The  children, 
who  had  been  granted  a  day's  leave  from  school,  ran 
about,  wild  with  glee,  begging  every  one  to  lend  them 
baskets  to  put  flowers  in.  The  women  had  been  up 
since  four  in  the  morning  preparing  a  luncheon  for  the 
outing  and  up  to  the  last  moment  they  were  busy  in 
the  kitchen  making  patties  and  opening  preserve  jars. 
Some  of  the  men  were  packing  sandwiches  and  milk- 
bottles,  bread  and  cheese  into  their  botony-tins;  others 
took  charge  of  the  water-bottles  and  tea-kitchens.  The 
children  gathered  at  the  gate  and  the  instant  it  was 


"FLOWERS   FROM   PALESTINE"          117 

opened  rushed  out,  followed  by  large  and  small  groups 
of  their  elders.  As  no  one  remained  at  home,  the  big 
house  was  soon  quite  empty  of  people. 

Bo  Ingmar  Mansson  was  very  happy  that  day.  He 
had  arranged  to  walk  with  Gertrude,  so  that  he  might 
help  her  with  all  the  things  she  had  to  carry.  Gertrude's 
kerchief  was  drawn  so  far  down  over  her  forehead  that 
all  Bo  could  see  of  her  face  was  the  chin  and  a  soft  fair 
cheek.  He  smiled  at  the  thought  of  his  being  so  pleased 
just  to  be  allowed  to  walk  with  Gertrude,  when  he  could 
neither  look  into  her  face  nor  speak  with  her.  Directly 
behind  them  were  Karin  and  her  sisters;  they  struck 
up  a  hymn  they  had  often  sung  with  their  mother  back 
at  the  Ingmar  Farm,  when  sitting  at  their  spinning- 
wheels  in  the  early  morning  hours.  Bo  remembered  the 
old  hymn: 

"The  blessed  day  we  now  behold 
From  Heaven  to  us  descending " 

In  front  of  Bo  and  Gertrude  walked  old  Corporal  Felt, 
with  all  the  children  around  him  clinging  to  his  cane  and 
tugging  at  his  coat  tails.  Bo  remembering  the  time 
when  every  youngster  took  to  his  heels  at  the  mere 
sight  of  the  man,  thought  to  himself:  "I've  never  seen 
the  old  corporal  look  so  sturdy  and  important;  he  fairly 
bristles  with  pride  because  the  children  love  to  be  with 
him." 

Presently  Bo  descried  Helgum  going  along  quietly 
holding  his  wife  by  one  hand  and  his  pretty  little  daugh- 


ii8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

ter  by  the  other.  "It's  strange  about  Helgum,"  he 
mused.  "He  seems  to  have  sunk  into  obscurity  since 
we  joined  these  Americans;  which  was  to  be  expected, 
for  they  are  superior  people  who  have  a  wonderful  gift 
for  expounding  the  Word  of  God.  I  should  really  like 
to  know  how  it  affects  him  not  to  be  the  centre  of  a  wor 
shipping  throng  on  an  occasion  like  this.  At  all  events, 
his  wife  seems  glad  that  she  can  have  him  more  to  her 
self  nowadays.  It  is  evident  from  her  manner  and  bearing 
that  she  has  never  in  her  life  been  so  proud  and  happy." 

At  the  very  front  walked  beautiful  Miss  Young  and 
an  English  youth,  who  had  been  in  the  colony  about  two 
years.  Bo  knew,  as  did  every  one  else,  that  the  Eng 
lishman  was  in  love  with  Miss  Young  and  had  come 
among  them  in  the  hope  of  making  her  his  wife.  There 
was  no  doubt  either,  that  the  girl  was  fond  of  him;  but 
of  course  the  Gordonites  could  not  relax  their  stringent 
rules  in  her  case  any  more  than  in  that  of  others,  and 
thus  the  two  had  gone  on  living  at  the  colony,  hoping 
against  hope.  To-day  they  walked  side  by  side,  and 
spoke  only  to  each  other.  They  had  neither  eyes  nor 
ears  for  any  one  else. 

There  was  a  French  sailor  in  the  colony  who  had  been 
there  from  its  inception,  and  who  was  now  very  old  and 
feeble.  He  and  Gabriel  came  last.  Bo  noticed  that 
Gabriel  had  given  the  sailor  his  arm  and  was  helping 
him  over  the  many  steep  places.  "It  is  the  thought  of 
his  old  father  makes  Gabriel  do  that,"  Bo  said  to  himself. 

Their  road  at  first  went  toward  the  east,  through  a 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE"          119 

lonely  and  bare  mountain  region  where  there  were  no 
flowers.  The  rains  had  washed  away  all  the  soil,  leav 
ing  only  the  barren  yellowish  rock. 

"Never  have  I  seen  so  blue  a  sky  as  the  one  above 
these  yellow  hills,"  thought  Bo,  "which,  despite  their 
barrenness,  are  not  ugly;  they  are  so  smooth  and  pret 
tily  rounded — just  like  the  big  domes  and  cupolas  of 
the  churches  and  homes  in  this  land." 

When  the  colonists  had  been  tramping  for  about  an 
hour,  they  sighted  the  first  rocky  dell,  covered  with  red 
anemones.  Laughing  and  shouting,  they  hurried  down  the 
mountain-side  and  eagerly  went  to  picking  flowers.  By- 
and-by  they  came  to  another  dell,  which  was  full  of  violets, 
then  to  another,  where  all  kinds  of  spring  flowers  grew. 

The  Swedes  at  first  were  almost  too  eager;  they  tore  up 
the  flowers  regardlessly,  until  the  Americans  showed 
them  how  to  go  about  it.  They  were  to"  pick  and  choose 
only  such  flowers  as  were  suitable  for  pressing,  which 
was  something  of  a  task. 

Gertrude  and  Bo  walked  side  by  side  gathering  flowers. 
Once  when  Bo  straightened  his  back  to  rest  for  a  moment, 
he  saw  a  couple  of  stalwart  yeoman  from  his  homeland 
who  for  many  years  had  never  so  much  as  glanced  at  a 
flower,  plucking  away  as  eagerly  as  the  others.  He  could 
hardly  keep  from  laughing.  Suddenly  he  turned  and 
said  to  Gertrude: 

"I  am  pondering  what  Jesus  meant  when  he  said: 
'  Except  ye  become  as  little  children,  ye  cannot  enter  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven." 


120  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Gertrude  looked  at  Bo  in  surprise.  It  was  so  unusual 
for  him  to  address  a  remark  to  her.  "They  are  strange 
words,"  she  replied. 

"I  have  observed,"  said  Bo,  thoughtfully,  "that  chil 
dren  are  never  so  good  as  when  they  play  at  being  grown 
up.  It's  great  fun  to  watch  them  plowing  a  field  they 
have  staked  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  flourishing 
their  whips  made  of  string  over  imaginary  horses  while 
digging  furrows  in  the  road-sand  with  a  pine-twig.  They 
are  such  amusing  little  beggars  as  they  walk  along  talking 
to  themselves — wondering  whether  they  will  be  finished 
with  their  sowing  before  their  neighbors,  or  complain 
ing  that  they  have  never  worked  a  field  so  hard  to  plow." 

Gertrude,  bending  over  the  flowers,  went  on  plucking. 
She  could  not  imagine  to  what  he  was  leading. 

"I  remember,"  Bo  continued,  "what  fun  I  had  when  I 
built  a  barn  of  wooden  blocks  and  put  pine-cones  in  it 
for  cows.  I  was  always  most  particular  to  give  the  cows 
new-mown  hay  every  morning  and  evening  and  some 
times  I  would  pretend  it  was  spring,  and  time  to  drive  my 
live-stock  to  the  sdter.  Then  I  would  blow  my  horn  and 
call  so  loudly  for  Star  and  Gold-lily  that  I  could  be  heard 
all  over  the  farm.  I  used  to  tell  my  mother  just  how 
much  milk  my  cows  gave  and  the  price  I  expected  to  get 
at  the  dairy  for  my  butter.  I  also  took  care  to  place  a 
board  over  the  eyes  of  my  bull,  and  when  people  went 
by  I  would  shout,  '  Beware!  this  bull  is  vicious/  ' 

Now  Gertrude  was  more  interested  in  what  Bo  was 
saying  than  in  gathering  flowers,  for  he  seemed  to  have 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE"          121 

the  sort  of  thoughts  and  fancies  that  once  filled  her  own 
brain. 

"But  the  best  sport  of  all,"  he  went  on,  "was  when  we 
boys  played  at  being  men,  and  held  a  town  council.  I 
remember  how  I  and  my  brothers  and  two  or  three  other 
boys  used  to  sit  perched  on  a  pile  of  boards  in  our  yard, 
the  one  who  was  chairman  rapped  on  the  boards  with 
a  wooden-ladle  for  order,  and  the  rest  of  us  sat  solemnly 
on  either  side  of  him,  and  determined  who  was  to  receive 
aid  from  the  parish  and  what  this  or  that  one  should 
pay  in  taxes.  We  sat  with  our  thumbs  thrust  into  the 
armholes  of  our  waistcoats  and  spoke  in  thick  voices, 
as  if  our  mouths  were  full  of  mush,  and  we  always  ad 
dressed  one  another  as  Mr.  Chairman,  Sexton,  Church 
warden,  Schoolmaster  and  Judge." 

Bo  paused  a  moment  and  kneaded  his  brow,  as  if  he 
had  now  come  to  that  which  he  wanted  to  say.  Ger 
trude  had  quit  plucking  flowers  and  was  sitting  on  the 
ground,  her  kerchief  pushed  back.  She  glanced  at  him, 
expecting  to  hear  something  new  and  startling. 

"Since  it  is  a  good  thing  for  children  to  play  they  are 
grown  folk,"  he  continued,  "it  may  also  be  good  for 
grown-ups  to  play  they  are  children  once  in  a  while. 
Wrhen  I  see  these  old  men,  who  at  this  season  have  always 
been  accustomed  to  work  in  the  wild  forest,  cutting 
and  hauling  timber,  going  here  intent  upon  such  child's 
play  as  picking  flowers,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  following 
Jesus'  admonition  to  be  as  little  children." 

Gertrude's    eyes    beamed;     she    knew    now    what    he 


122  THE  HOLY  CITY 

meant,  and  the  thought  pleased  her.  "I  think  we  have 
all  been  transformed  into  children  since  coming  here," 
she  said. 

"Yes,"  laughed  Bo,  "we  have  been  like  children  in 
this,  that  we  had  to  be  taught  all  sorts  of  things.  We've 
had  to  learn  how  to  hold  our  forks  and  spoons  and  to  like 
certain  foods  we  had  never  before  tasted.  And  at  first 
we  were  not  allowed  to  go  anywhere  unless  some  of 
them  went  along,  for  fear  we'd  lose  our  way,  and  we 
were  warned  against  people  who  might  do  us  harm, 
and  against  certain  places  where  we  must  not  go." 

"We  Swedes  were  exactly  like  babies  learning  to  talk," 
said  Gertrude;  "we  had  to  be  taught  to  say  table,  and 
chair,  and  cupboard,  and  before  long  I  suppose  we  shall 
be  back  at  the  school-bench  again,  learning  to  read  this 
new  language." 

Now  they  both  became  very  eager  to  find  fresh  in 
stances  of  similarity. 

"I've  had  to  learn  the  names  of  the  different  trees, 
just  as  my  mother  taught  me  when  I  was  a  lad.  I  have 
learned  to  tell  the  knotted  fig-tree  from  the  twisted  olive- 
tree.  And  I  have  also  learned  to  know  a  Turk  by  his 
short  jacket,  a  Bedouin  by  his  striped  mantle,  a  dervish 
by  his  felt  cap,  and  a  Jew  by  the  little  corkscrew  curls 
at  his  ears." 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  the  same  as  when  we,  in  our  child 
hood,  learned  to  know  the  Floda  peasants  and  the  Gagnef 
peasants  by  their  hats  and  coats." 

"Could  anything  be  more  childlike  than  our  letting 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE"          123 

others  do  everything  for  us?"  laughed  Bo.  "We  have 
no  money  of  our  own  and  if  we  want  a  penny  to 
spend,  we  must  ask  for  it.  Every  time  a  fruit-vender 
offers  me  an  orange  or  a  bunch  of  grapes,  I  feel  as  I  felt 
in  my  boyhood,  when  I  was  obliged  to  go  past  the  candy- 
stand  at  the  county  fair  because  I  hadn't  a  copper  in  my 
pocket." 

"I  verily  believe  we  have  been  completely  trans 
formed,"  said  Gertrude.  "If  we  went  back  to  Sweden, 
I'm  sure  our  people  would  hardly  know  us." 

"How  can  we  help  thinking  that  we  have  become 
children,"  Bo  rejoined,  "when  we  must  dig  in  a  potato 
patch  the  size  of  a  barn  floor,  and  then  plow  it  with 
an  implement  made  from  the  limb  of  a  tree,  and  have 
only  a  little  donkey  for  a  horse  ?  Instead  of  having  real 
farms  to  work,  we  play  a  bit  at  vine-growing." 

Bo  closed  his  eyes  so  that  he  could  think  with  less  effort. 
It  suddenly  struck  Gertrude  that  he  had  become  wonder 
fully  like  Ingmar  Ingmarsson.  His  whole  face  reflected 
wisdom  and  thoughtfulness. 

"However,  all  this  is  immaterial,"  said  Bo.  "The 
vital  thing  is  that  our  attitude  toward  life  and  our  fellow 
beings  has  become  childlike,  we  think  everyone  wishes 
us  well,  and  that  despite  the  fact  that  some  people  are 
very  hard  upon  us." 

"Yes,  it  must  have  been  more  the  state  of  mind  Christ 
was  thinking  of  when  he  spoke  those  words,"  Gertrude 
observed. 

"Our  minds  have  certainly  been  remoulded,"  said  Bo. 


i24  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Haven't  you  noticed  that  now,  when  vexations  come, 
we  do  not  brood  over  them  for  days  and  weeks,  but 
forget  all  about  them  in  a  little  while?" 

Just  then  someone  called  to  them  to  come  to  breakfast. 
Bo  frowned;  he  could  have  walked  and  talked  with 
Gertrude  the  whole  day  without  thought  of  food.  He 
had  been  so  blissfully  content  all  the  morning  that  he 
was  beginning  to  feel  the  colonists  were  right  in  saying 
that  people  need  only  live  in  peace  and  concord,  as  they 
did,  to  be  happy.  "I'm  quite  satisfied  with  things  as 
they  are,"  he  mused.  "Much  as  I  think  of  Gertrude, 
I  no  longer  desire  to  marry  her.  All  that  agonizing 
love-sickness  that  kept  me  in  a  state  of  torment  in  times 
gone  by  has  left  me.  Now,  I'm  quite  satisfied  and 
happy  if  I  can  only  see  her  every  day  and  serve  her." 

Bo  would  have  liked  to  tell  Gertrude  that  he  was 
completely  changed  and  felt  quite  like  a  child  in  every 
way;  but  he  was  too  bashful;  he  could  not  find  the  right 
words.  And  all  the  way  home  he  kept  thinking  to  him 
self  that  he  really  ought  to  tell  Gertrude  about  his  altered 
feelings,  so  that  she  would  be  more  at  ease  in  his  company 
and  rely  upon  him  as  upon  a  brother. 

They  got  back  to  the  colony  at  sunset.  Bo  sat  down 
under  an  old  sycamore  tree  outside  the  gate.  He  wanted 
to  remain  out  of  doors  as  long  as  possible.  When  the 
others  had  all  gone  in,  Gertrude  asked  him  if  he  too 
would  not  come. 

"I'm  sitting  here  thinking  of  what  we  talked  about 
this  morning,"  said  Bo.  "And  I  am  wondering  what 


"FLOWERS  FROM  PALESTINE"          125 

would  happen  if  Jesus  were  to  pass  this  way,  as  He  no 
doubt  often  did  when  on  earth,  and  come  and  sit  under  this 
very  tree,  and  say:  'Except  ye  become  as  little  chil 
dren,  ye  cannot  enter  the  Kingdom  of  God."  There 
was  a  note  of  dreaminess  in  Bo's  voice;  it  was  as  if  he  were 
thinking  aloud,  and  Gertrude  stood  quietly  listening. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  he  continued:  "I  should  answer 
Him  and  say:  'Lord,  we  help  one  another  without  ask 
ing  anything  in  return,  as  do  children,  and  if  we  get 
angry  at  a  brother,  it  is  not  for  long;  we're  friends  again 
before  night.  Dost  thou  not  see,  Lord,  that  we  are  alto 
gether  as  children?" 

"And  what  do  you  think  Jesus  would  answer?"  asked 
Gertrude  tenderly. 

"He  would  sit  quite  still  and  again  say,  'Ye  must  be 
as  children  if  ye  would  enter  into  My  Kingdom.'  And 
I  should  say  to  him,  just  as  I  said  before:  'Lord,  we  love 
everyone  as  children  love.  We  do  not  discriminate 
between  Jew  and  Armenian,  between  Turk  and  Bedouin, 
between  black  and  white.  We  love  the  wise  and  the 
simple,  high  and  low,  and  share  our  goods  with  Chris 
tians  and  Mohammedans  alike.  So  is  it  not  true,  Lord, 
that  we  are  as  children  and  may  enter  Thy  Kingdom?" 

"What  would  Jesus  answer  to  that?" 

"Nothing.  He  would  just  sit  there  and  tenderly  repeat : 
'Except  ye  become  as  little  children,  ye  cannot  enter  My 
Kingdom.'  Now  I  know  what  He  means,  and  I  say  to 
Him:  'Lord,  even  in  this  am  I  become  as  a  child,  that 
I  no  longer  feel  the  sort  of  love  I  once  felt,  but  my 


126  THE  HOLY  CITY 

loved  is  to  me  as  a  playmate,  a  dear  sister,  with  whom 
I  can  wander  in  the  green  fields  and  pick  flowers.  Then, 
Lord,  am  I  not ?'" 

Bo  suddenly  broke  off,  for  he  knew  the  instant  these 
words  were  uttered  that  he  was  lying.  It  was  to  him 
as  if  Jesus  were  actually  there  looking  into  his  very  soul 
and  could  see  how  his  love  rose  within  him,  tearing  at 
his  heart  like  some  beast  of  prey  because  he  would  deny 
its  existence  in  the  presence  of  his  beloved. 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned:  "No, 
Lord,  I  am  not  as  a  little  child;  I  cannot  enter  Thy 
Kingdom.  Perhaps  the  others  can,  but  I  cannot  quench 
the  fire  in  my  soul  and  deaden  the  life  in  my  body.  Yet 
if  it  be  Thy  will,  Lord,  I  shall  let  this  fire  consume  me 
without  seeking  solace  for  my  longings/* 

Bo  sat  long  under  the  tree,  weeping,  overcome  by 
his  love.  When  he  at  length  looked  up,  Gertrude  was 
gone;  she  had  slipped  away  so  quietly  he  had  not  heard 
her  go. 


GEHENNA 


GEHENNA 

OUTSIDE  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  on  the  southern 
slope  of  Mount  Zion,  one  of  the  American  mis 
sionary    societies    had    a    cemetery,    in    which 
the  Gordonites  had  obtained  permission  to  bury  their 
dead.     Already  many  of  their  people  rested  there,  from 
Jacques  Gamier,  who  had  been  a  cabin-boy  on  the  steam 
ship  VUnivers  and  who  was  the  first  among  the  colonists 
to  pass  away,  to  Edward  Gordon  himself,  who  died  in  the 
spring,  soon  after  his  return  from  America. 

It  was  the  poorest  and  plainest  burial  place  imagin 
able — only  a  small  piece  of  ground  surrounded  by  a  wall 
so  high  and  thick  it  might  have  served  as  a  fortification. 
There  was  not  a  tree  nor  a  blade  of  grass  in  the  place, 
but  the  ground  was  fairly  well  kept.  Over  the  mounds 
were  flat  slabs  of  limestone,  of  which  there  is  a  plenti 
ful  supply  in  Jerusalem  and  at  the  side  of  some  graves 
were  green  chairs  and  benches. 

Down  in  the  eastern  corner,  where  one  could  have  a 
fine  view  of  the  Dead  Sea  and  the  shining  hills  of  Moab 
but  for  the  wall,  were  the  graves  of  the  Swedish  colonists. 
So  many  of  them  lay  buried  there  that  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  our  Lord  had  found  that  they  had  done  enough  for 
Him  in  giving  up  their  homes,  and  allowed  them  to  enter 

129 


r3o  THE  HOLY  CITY 

His  Kingdom  without  requiring  further  sacrifices.  Here 
lay  Birger  Larsson,  the  smith,  and  Ljung  Bjorn's  little 
son  Eric  and  Gunhild  and  Brita  Ingmarsson,  who  died 
soon  after  that  happy  day  when  the  colonists  had  gone 
flower  gathering.  Here,  too,  rested  Per  Gunnarsson  and 
Martha  Eskilsson,  who  had  been  members  of  Helgum's 
community  in  America.  Death  the  Reaper  had  gath 
ered  in  so  many  of  these  people  that  the  situation  was 
becoming  embarrassing  to  the  colonists,  who  felt  they 
had  already  taken  up  too  much  ground  in  this  crowded 
churchyard. 

Tims  Halvor  had  buried  one  of  his  children  there, 
a  little  girl  who  was  only  three  years  old  when  she  was 
taken  from  him.  He  had  been  passionately  fond  of  her, 
and  of  all  his  children  she  was  the  most  like  him.  Never 
had  he  felt  toward  any  other  being  what  he  felt  toward 
that  child.  Go  where  he  would,  do  what  he  would,  his 
thoughts  were  always  with  her. 

Had  she  died  at  home  in  Dalecarlia  and  been  buried 
in  the  parish  churchyard,  then  perhaps  it  would  have 
gone  less  hard  with  him;  but  now  he  always  had  the 
feeling  that  his  little  girl  must  be  very  lonely  and  un 
happy  out  there  in  that  dreadful  cemetery.  At  night 
he  seemed  to  see  her  sitting  upon  her  little  grave  shiv 
ering  in  the  cold,  and  crying  that  she  was  afraid  in  this 
strange  dark  place. 

One  afternoon  Halvor  went  down  to  the  Valley  of 
Johoshaphat  and  gathered  a  lot  of  red  anemones,  the 
brightest  and  prettiest  he  could  find,  to  place  on  her 


GEHENNA  131 

grave.  As  he  walked  along  the  green  meadows  he 
thought:  "If  I  only  had  my  little  girl  here  in  this  open 
place,  under  a  grassy  mound,  where  she  would  not  be 
shut  in  by  that  awful  wall!"  He  had  always  hated 
the  high  wall  round  the  cemetery;  the  very  thought  of 
it  made  him  feel  as  though  he  had  locked  the  poor  little 
thing  up  in  a  cold  dark  house,  with  no  one  to  care  for 
her.  "I'm  so  cold  and  miserable,  father,"  he  seemed 
to  hear  her  moan. 

Coming  up  from  the  valley,  he  went  along  the  narrow 
path  outside  the  city  wall  toward  the  hill  of  Zion.  The 
burying-ground  lay  a  little  to  the  west  of  the  Gate  of 
Zion,  just  below  the  big  garden  of  the  Armenians.  And 
all  the  while  he  was  thinking  of  his  child. 

Suddenly  he  had  a  feeling  that  something  here  was 
not  as  usual.  Glancing  up,  he  saw  some  men  pulling 
down  a  wall,  and  stopped  to  watch  them.  What  were 
they  demolishing?  Was  it  a  building  or  a  stone  hedge? 
It  must  be  over  by  the  cemetery,  or  had  he  missed  his 
way? 

It  was  some  moments  before  he  realized  what  was 
happening.  It  was  the  high  wall  round  the  cemetery  the 
workmen  were  pulling  down. 

Halvor  tried  to  persuade  himself  it  was  being  razed 
in  order  to  extend  the  cemetery  or  perhaps  to  put  up 
iron  railing.  "It  won't  be  so  cold  and  damp  in  there 
with  the  wall  away,"  thought  he.  Then,  all  at  once 
a  terrible  fear  came  over  him,  and  he  began  to  run: 
"I  hope  to  God  they  haven't  disturbed  her  grave!  She 


132  THE  HOLY  CITY 

lies  just  under  the  wall.  I  only  hope  they've  done 
nothing  to  her!" 

He  was  quite  out  of  breath  as  he  clambered  over  the 
heaps  of  stones  into  the  graveyard.  He  saw  now  what 
had  happened  there  and  felt  at  the  same  time  that  some 
thing  had  happened  to  his  heart;  it  suddenly  stopped, 
then  beat  violently,  whereupon  it  stopped  again.  It 
acted  like  the  works  of  a  worn-out  clock. 

Halvor  was  obliged  to  sit  down  on  a  stone  until  he 
could  recover  himself.  By  degrees  his  heart-beats  be 
came  more  regular,  though  still  heavy  and  labored.  "I'm 
not  dead  yet,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  shall  probably 
go  on  living  a  while  longer." 

Presently  he  got  up  and  looked  round  the  cemetery. 
On  the  ground  lay  some  bones  and  skulls  that  must 
have  fallen  out  of  old  coffins.  All  the  gravestones  had 
been  piled  in  a  corner. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  have  they  done 
with  the  dead?"  He  went  up  to  the  workmen  and 
asked  them  in  Swedish  what  they  had  done  with  little 
Greta — too  dazed  and  appalled  to  know  what  he  said 
or  did. 

Then  it  struck  him  that  he  was  speaking  his  native 
tongue.  Bewildered,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head  in 
an  effort  to  pull  himself  together  and  remember  who 
and  what  he  was;  that  he  was  no  timorous  child,  but 
a  sensible  man  of  years,  that  he  had  been  a  big  farmer 
to  whom  all  the  parish  had  once  looked  up.  It  would 
never  do  for  a  man  like  him  to  lose  his  wits,  he  thought. 


GEHENNA  133 

Halvor  then  asked  in  English  why  the  cemetery  had  been 
torn  up. 

The  workmen  were  natives,  but  one,  who  knew  a  little 
English,  informed  him  that  the  American  missionaries 
had  sold  the  ground  to  some  Germans,  who  were  going 
to  build  a  hospital  there,  and  that  was  why  they  had  to 
dig  up  the  dead. 

Halvor  stood  pondering  the  man's  reply.  "So  they 
were  going  to  put  up  a  hospital  here!  With  all  these 
barren  hills,  it  seemed  strange  that  they  could  not  have 
found  another  spot  for  it,  but  must  build  just  here. 
What  if  the  dead  whom  they  had  turned  out  of  their 
graves  should  come  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  hospital 
and  beg  to  be  let  in?  "We,  too,  want  a  bed  here,"  they 
would  say,  and  there  would  be  a  long  line  of  them  stand 
ing  there,  with  Birger  Larsson,  Gunhild,  Baby  Eric 
and  the  rest — last  of  all  his  little  girl. 

He  choked  back  the  rising  sobs,  trying  all  the  while 
to  appear  unconcerned.  He  stood  swinging  his  bouquet 
of  red  anemones  in  a  posture  of  assumed  indiffer 
ence.  "But  what  has  been  done  with  the  dead?"  he 
asked. 

"The  Americans  have  taken  away  their  coffins," 
replied  the  workman.  "All  who  had  any  dead  lying 
here  were  notified  to  come  and  remove  them."  The 
man  stopped  short  and  looked  at  Halvor.  "Perhaps 
you  come  from  the  big  house  outside  the  Damascus 
gate?  The  people  living  there  have  not  removed  a 
single  body." 


134  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"No  word  of  this  has  reached  us,"  said  Halvor,  still 
twirling  his  bouquet,  though  his  face  was  tense  with 
the  struggle  to  hide  his  feelings  from  these  strangers. 

"The  ones  that  have  not  been  taken  away  are  lying 
over  yonder,"  said  the  man,  pointing  toward  a  spot 
farther  down  the  hill.  "I'll  show  you  the  place  so  that 
your  people  can  come  and  bury  them." 

The  man  led  the  way,  and  Halvor  followed,  picking 
up  a  stone  as  he  stepped  over  the  remnants  of  the  wall. 
Walking  close  behind  his  guide,  Halvor  said  in  Swedish: 
"I  should  think  the  man  would  be  afraid  of  me,  and 
keep  at  a  safe  distance?  He  helped  to  cast  her  out;  he 
threw  my  little  Greta  on  a  rubbish-heap.  My  little 
Greta,  who  should  have  had  a  marble  tomb  to  rest  in, 
was  not  even  allowed  to  lie  in  peace  in  her  wretched 
grave!  Perhaps  it  was  this  very  man  who  dug  her 
out,"  muttered  Halvor,  balancing  the  stone  in  his  hand. 
"I'm  tempted  to  smash  that  shaven  pate  under  the  red 
fez!  I'll  have  you  know,"  he  said,  as  if  addressing 
his  guide,  "that  that  child  was  little  Greta  of  Ingmar 
Farm,  who  by  rights  should  be  resting  beside  Big  Ingmar. 
She  came  of  good  people  and  should  have  been  allowed 
to  lie  undisturbed  in  her  own  little  grave  till  the  end  of 
Time.  Here  they  had  not  even  a  funeral  feast  for  her 
and  the  bells  did  not  toll  when  she  was  carried  to  the 
churchyard,  and  there  was  no  regularly  ordained  pastor 
to  read  the  Burial-service.  But  for  all  that,  what  right 
had  you  to  turn  her  out  of  her  grave?  Even  if  I  did  not 
prove  a  good  father  to  her  in  those  matters,  understand 


GEHENNA  135 

I'm  not  such  a  wretch  as  to  condone  your  crime  of  turn 
ing  her  out  of  her  grave." 

Halvor  raised  his  hand  to  hurl  the  stone,  when  the 
workman  suddenly  turned  to  him  and  said:    "Here  they 


are." 


In  the  midst  of  refuse-heaps  and  ruins  was  a  deep  pit 
into  which  the  plain  coffins  of  the  colonists  had  been 
carelessly  thrown.  Some  old  coffins  had  fallen  apart 
and  the  bodies  inside  were  exposed  to  view.  Others 
had  been  placed  on  end  and  through  their  worm-eaten 
lids  protruded  long  withered  hands  that  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  turn  their  coffins  into  proper  position. 

As  Halvor  stood  looking  down  upon  all  this  the  work 
man  happened  to  notice  his  hand,  which  was  clenched 
about  the  stone  so  tightly  that  the  finger-tips  had  turned 
white,  then  he  glanced  at  Halvor's  face,  in  which  he 
must  have  read  something  dreadful,  for  with  a  cry  of 
terror  he  turned  and  fled. 

But  Halvor,  completely  unnerved  by  the  sight  he 
beheld,  no  longer  thought  of  the  man.  Most  dreadful 
of  all  was  the  sickening  stench  of  decaying  bodies  that 
filled  the  air.  A  pair  of  vultures  hovered  above  the  pit 
waiting  for  the  cover  of  darkness,  to  swoop  down  upon 
the  carrion.  Some  tramp  dogs  that  had  come  running 
sat  upon  their  haunches  at  the  edge  of  the  deep  grave 
looking  down,  their  tongues  lolling  far  out  of  their  jaws. 

Then,  to  his  horror,  Halvor  discovered  that  he  was 
on  the  slope  leading  to  the  Valley  of  Hinnom  and  close 
to  the  place  where  once  burned  the  fires  of  Gehenna. 


136  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"This  is  indeed  Gehenna!"  he  exclaimed — "the  abode 
of  terror." 

He  did  not  stand  long  looking  toward  Gehenna,  but 
instantly  jumped  into  the  pit,  pushed  the  heavy  coffins 
to  right  and  left,  crawling  in  among  the  dead,  search 
ing  for  his  little  Greta.  When  he  at  length  found  her 
coffin,  he  lifted  it  onto  his  shoulder  and  climbed  out  of 
the  pit. 

"She  will  never  have  to  say  of  her  father  that  he  let 
her  stay  the  night  in  this  horrible  place.  My  precious 
child,"  he  crooned  to  the  dead,  "we  didn't  know  of  this. 
None  of  us  knew  you  were  to  be  turned  out  of  your 
graves.  Others  were  told  what  was  to  happen,  but  not 
we.  They  think  us  of  no  account,  that's  why  they 
haven't  troubled  to  let  us  know  about  it." 

Now  his  heart  hurt  him  again;  so  he  had  to  sit  down 
until  the  pain  was  gone.  "Don't  be  uneasy,  little  one," 
he  said,  "this  will  soon  pass.  Have  no  fear,  for  father 
is  strong  enough  to  carry  his  little  girl  away  from  this 
place." 

In  a  while  he  felt  better,  and,  taking  up  the  coffin,  he 
went  on  toward  Jerusalem.  As  he  walked  along  the 
narrow  path  outside  the  city  wall,  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  everything  were  changed.  The  sight  of  the  walls  and 
the  ruins  frightened  him.  To  his  mind  they  had  become 
singularly  hostile  and  menacing.  It  was  as  if  this  strange 
country  and  this  strange  city  mocked  at  him. 

"My  child,"  he  continued,  "you  mustn't  be  angry 
at  father  for  bringing  you  to  this  cruel  land.  If  a  thing 


GEHENNA  137 

like  this  had  happened  at  home,  the  forests  would  have 
wept  and  the  stones  would  have  cried  out,  but  this  is  a 
pitiless  land." 

Halvor  had  to  proceed  very  slowly  on  account  of  his 
heart;  its  action  was  too  faint  to  drive  the  blood  through 
his  veins.  He  felt  so  weak  and  helpless.  A  wave  of 
despair  swept  over  him  at  the  thought  of  being  so  far 
away  in  a  foreign  land,  where  no  one  would  have  com 
passion  on  him.  Then,  turning  the  corner,  he  tramped 
on  outside  the  eastern  wall,  below  which  lay  the  grave- 
strewn  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat. 

"It  is  here  the  Last  Judging  will  be  held,  when  the 
dead  arise,"  he  mused.  "What  will  God  say  to  me  on 
Doomsday  for  bringing  my  dear  ones  to  this  city  of 
death,  and  persuading  relatives  and  friends  to  come  to 
this  dreadful  place?  They  will  accuse  me  before  God!" 
He  seemed  to  hear  his  countrymen  raising  their  voices 
against  him:  "We  believed  in  him,  and  he  took  us  to 
a  land  where  we  are  more  despised  than  dogs;  to  a  city 
whose  cruelty  has  killed  us." 

He  tried  to  shake  off  these  morbid  thoughts,  but 
could  not;  he  seemed  to  see  all  the  perils  and  hardships 
that  lay  before  his  comrades — the  dire  poverty  that  must 
inevitably  overtake  them,  as  they  would  not  take  pay 
for  their  work.  He  thought  of  the  trying  climate,  of 
the  sickness  that  would  come  upon  them;  of  the  strict 
rules  they  had  laid  upon  themselves,  which  must  even 
tually  bring  about  dissension  and  ruin.  He  felt  weary 
unto  death. 


138  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"We  can  no  more  go  on  living  in  this  wretched  land 
than  we  can  till  its  soil  or  drink  its  water,"  he  groaned. 
Now  he  was  so  weak  that  he  could  hardly  drag  himself 
along. 

As  the  colonists  sat  at  their  evening  meal  they  heard 
a  faint  ring  at  the  gate. 

Tims  Halvor,  more  dead  than  alive,  was  found  sitting 
on  the  ground  outside.  Beside  him  was  his  little 
girl's  coffin.  He  sat  pulling  out  flowers  from  a  large 
bouquet  of  faded  anemones  and  strewing  them  over  the 
coffin. 

Ljung  Bjorn,  who  opened  the  gate,  noticed  that  Hal 
vor  was  trying  to  say  something,  and  bent  down  to 
catch  the  words. 

"They  have  thrown  our  dead  out  of  their  graves," 
Halvor  mumbled,  "they  are  lying  under  the  open  sky 
down  in  Gehenna.  You  must  go  this  very  night  and 
fetch  them." 

"What  are  you  saying?"  gasped  Bjorn,  who  did  not 
understand  what  Halvor  meant. 

The  dying  man  with  extreme  effort  rose  to  his  feet. 
"They  have  turned  our  dead  our  of  their  graves,  Bjorn. 
All  you  men  must  go  to  Gehenna  tonight  and  take  them 
away."  When  this  was  said,  he  fell  back  with  a  groan. 
"I'm  sick,  Bjorn.  There's  something  wrong  with  my 
heart.  I  was  afraid  I  might  die  before  I  could  tell  you 
of  this.  I  carried  little  Greta  home,  but  I  had  to  leave  the 
others." 


GEHENNA  139 

Bjorn  knelt  down  to  lift  Halvor.  "Come,  let  me  help 
you  in,"  he  said,  but  Halvor  did  not  hear  him. 

"Promise  me,  Bjorn,  that  little  Greta  shall  be  properly 
buried.  I  don't  want  her  to  think  she  has  a  bad  father." 

"Yes,  I  promise,"  said  Bjorn;  "but  won't  you  try  to 
come  in  now?" 

Halvor's  head  sank  low.  "See  that  she  is  laid  to  rest 
under  a  green  mound,"  he  whispered.  "And  lay  me,  too, 
under  a  green  mound." 

Bjorn,  seeing  how  ill  Halvor  was,  hurried  back  to  the 
house  for  help,  but  when  he  returned  Halvor  was  dead. 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE 

IT  WAS  a  trying  summer  in  Jerusalem,  with  drouth 
and  much  sickness.  The  winter  rains  had  been 
very  light  that  year  and  the  Holy  City,  which  is 
dependent  upon  them  for  its  water  supply,  that  collects 
in  the  underground  cisterns  during  the  winter  months, 
was  nearly  out  of  water.  When  people  had  to  resort  to 
the  muddy,  ill-smelling  mixture  at  the  bottom  of  these 
cisterns  sickness  increased  at  an  alarming  rate.  There 
was  hardly  a  house  where  some  one  had  not  been  taken 
down  with  typhoid,  smallpox  or  climatic  fever. 

The  Gordon  colonists  had  a  busy  time  of  it,  as  nearly 
all  of  them  were  attending  to  the  sick.  Those  who  had 
lived  for  some  years  in  Jerusalem  seemed  to  be  immune 
to  infection,  and  could  go  from  patient  to  patient  with 
out  endangering  their  own  health.  The  Swedish-Amer 
icans,  who  had  weathered  hot  summers  in  Chicago,  were 
also  able  to  withstand  sickness  and  fatigue.  But  the 
poor  peasants  from  Dalecarlia  nearly  all  fell  ill. 

At  first  they  thought  there  was  nothing  much  the 
matter  with  them.  They  were  up  and  about,  but  unable 
to  work,  and  although  they  suffered  continually  from 
fever  and  were  growing  thin,  none  of  them  believed  it 
was  anything  more  than  a  passing  indisposition.  The 

J43 


i44  THE  HOLY  CITY 

first  week  the  widow  of  Berger  Persson  died,  and  shortly 
afterwards  one  of  her  sons.  In  the  meantime  more  of 
the  peasants  were  taken  ill;  it  looked  as  if  all  the  Dale- 
carlians  would  soon  be  wiped  out. 

The  sick  people  craved  for  but  one  thing;  they  begged 
all  the  while  for  water — for  just  a  mouthful  of  pure  fresh 
water.  They  said  it  was  the  only  medicine  they  needed 
to  make  them  well  again. 

Then  if  one  offered  them  cistern  water  they  turned 
away  and  would  not  taste  it.  Although  the  water  had 
been  filtered  and  cooled  they  fancied  it  had  a  musty 
smell  and  an  acrid  taste.  A  few  who  tried  to  drink  of 
it  were  seized  with  violent  pains,  and  imagined  they 
had  been  poisoned. 

One  morning,  when  this  epidemic  was  at  its  worst, 
some  of  the  men  were  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  house 
talking  together.  Their  hollow  cheeks  and  dull,  blood 
shot  eyes  tol  d  plainly  that  they  were  fever  victims. 

They  sat  with  idle  hands  gazing  at  the  clear  blue  sky, 
and  not  even  the  smallest  cloud  that  appeared  on  the 
horizon  escaped  their  notice.  They  knew  well  that  no 
rain  was  expected  for  several  months,  but  instantly  a 
filmy  cloud  was  seen,  they  looked  for  a  miracle  in  the 
guise  of  rain.  "Perhaps  God  will  soon  send  us  relief," 
they  thought. 

While  following  with  their  eyes  a  growing  cloudlet 
in  its  passage  across  the  sky  they  talked  of  how  it  would 
seem  to  hear  big  drops  beating  against  the  walls  and 
windows,  and  to  see  water  gushing  from  the  rain-pipes, 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  145 

flushing  the  road  and  carrying  with  it  pebbles  and  sand. 
They  determined  not  to  seek  shelter  from  the  shower, 
should  it  come,  but  to  sit  still  and  let  the  rain  pour  down 
upon  them.  They  felt  that  they,  like  the  dry  soil,  needed 
to  be  soaked  through. 

As  the  cloud  rose  higher  it  grew  smaller  and  seemed 
to  fade  away.  First  the  fleecy  edges  disappeared,  then 
the  cloud  itself  broke  at  the  centre,  separating  into  faint 
lines,  that  soon  vanished  entirely. 

When  the  peasants  could  no  longer  see  the  cloud  they 
were  in  despair.  The  older  men,  enfeebled  by  illness, 
put  their  hands  over  their  eyes,  so  that  if  they  could 
not  keep  back  the  rising  tears  no  one  would  see  them 
weep. 

Ljung  Bjorn  Olafsson,  who,  since  the  death  of  Tims 
Halvor,  had  become  the  leading  spirit  among  the  Swedes, 
tried  to  hearten  the  others.  He  talked  to  them  about  the 
brook  of  Kedron  that  in  olden  times  flowed  through  the 
Valley  of  Jehoshaphat  and  gave  to  Jerusalem  an  abundant 
water  supply.  Taking  his  Bible  from  his  pocket,  he 
read  all  the  passages  where  there  was  any  mention  of  the 
brook  of  Kedron,  picturing  to  them  what  a  big  and 
mighty  stream  it  had  been;  how  in  summer  it  had  turned 
mill-wheels  and  in  winter  overflowed  its  banks  and 
watered  the  whole  country-side. 

It  was  evident  that  Ljung  Bjorn  derived  comfort  from 
telling  about  the  great  stream  that  once  flowed  past 
Jerusalem,  for  it  was  always  in  his  thoughts.  He  dwelt 
particularly  upon  that  chapter  which  tells  of  David 


i46  THE  HOLY  CITY 

wading  across  the  brook  of  Kedron  when  fleeing  from 
Absalom  and  he  described  how  it  would  feel  to  walk 
with  bare  feet  in  cool,  running  water.  "To  me  that 
would  be  almost  better  than  drinking  it,"  he  said. 

Ljung  Bjorn  was  still  talking  about  Kedron,  when  his 
brother-in-law,  Bullet  Gunner,  cut  him  short.  Gun 
ner  declared  that  he  did  not  care  to  hear  about  an  old 
brook  long  since  dried  up.  All  through  this  time  of 
sore  trial  he  had  been  pondering  a  prophecy  of  Ezekiel. 
It  was  about  a  river  that  would  issue  from  the  threshold 
of  the  temple  and  flow  over  the  dry  plain  as  far  as  the 
Dead  Sea.  As  he  talked  his  eyes  gleamed  and  he  shook 
back  his  black  forelock,  that  kept  falling  over  his  eyes. 
He  spoke  in  a  way  that  made  the  peasants  see  the  waters 
come  flowing  down  from  Jerusalem;  they  glided  on, 
softly  rippling  over  the  stones  of  the  many  little  creeks 
in  the  green  meadows.  On  the  banks  grew  poplars  and 
willows  and  thick-leaved  succulent  plants  hung  down 
over  the  surface  of  the  water,  which  glistened  and  purled 
as  it  flowed  over  the  white  stones  at  the  bottom. 

"And  this  must  come  to  pass,"  cried  Gunner  fer 
vently.  "It  is  a  promise  from  God  which  has  not  yet 
been  fulfilled.  I've  been  thinking  that  perhaps  the  ful 
fillment  may  come  today,  or  tomorrow." 

Whereupon  Gabriel,  who  was  also  there,  became  eagerly 
interested.  He  borrowed  Ljung  Bjorn's  Bible  and  read 
aloud  some  verses  from  the  Book  of  Chronicles.  "Lis 
ten  to  this,"  he  said;  "it  is  the  most  remarkable  thing  I 
have  ever  heard."  And  then  he  read  how  in  the  days 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  147 

of  Hezekiah  there  came  word  that  Sennacherib,  with  all 
his  hosts,  was  approaching  to  besiege  Jerusalem,  and 
how  Hezekiah  took  council  with  his  princes  and  his 
mighty  men,  and  how  they  all  said  it  would  not  be  well 
if  the  Assyrians  should  find  much  water  here  when  they 
came  to  besiege  the  city.  Then  Hezekiah  with  his 
hosts  went  forth  and  stopped  the  waters  outside  Jeru 
salem,  both  the  great  brook  that  ran  through  the  midst 
of  the  land  and  all  the  fountains. 

When  he  had  finished  he  looked  out  at  the  barren 
fields  around  the  colony.  "I  have  been  pondering  this 
narrative  a  long  while,"  he  said,  "and  have  asked  the 
Americans  about  it.  Now  Fm  going  to  tell  you  what 
I've  learned." 

Gabriel  spoke  with  ease  and  fluency,  just  as  his  father. 
Hok  Matts,  spoke  when  the  spirit  moved  him  to  preach, 
Ordinarily  Gabriel  was  no  speaker,  but  now,  with  the 
fever  raging  in  his  veins,  the  words  flowed  freely  from  his 
lips. 

"The  Americans  told  me  that  in  the  reign  of  King 
Hezekiah  this  mountain  plain  was  covered  with  trees  and 
bushes.  No  corn  grew  in  the  stony  soil,  but  there  were 
many  gardens  here,  gardens  full  of  pomegranates  and 
apricot  trees,  of  saffron  and  cinnamon  and  calmus  trees, 
of  kofer  shrubs  and  nardus  plants — of  every  kind  of 
choice  fruit  and  fragrant  herb.  All  these  trees  and  plants 
were  well  watered;  from  rivers  and  brooks  water  flowed 
into  every  garden,  and  each  day  at  a  given  hour  the 
owners  were  allowed  to  flood  their  gardens. 


148  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"One  morning,  when  all  the  trees  were  in  richest 
bloom,  Hezekiah,  with  his  men,  went  forth  from  the  city. 
As  he  passed  through  the  gardens  the  almond  and  apricot 
trees  showered  their  blossoms  upon  him.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  sweet  fragrances  when  Hezekiah  went  forth, 
and  when  he  returned,  at  the  close  of  the  day,  the  trees 
again  saluted  him  with  their  balmy  sweetness. 

"But  that  day  King  Hezekiah  had  stopped  all  the 
fountains  of  Jerusalem  and  the  great  brook  that  flowed 
through  the  midst  of  the  land.  The  next  day  there 
was  no  water  in  the  little  creeks  which  had  fed  the 
roots  of  the  trees.  Some  weeks  later,  when  the  trees 
should  have  borne  fruit,  they  had  no  vitality,  and  put 
forth  but  little;  and  when  the  leaves  sprang  out  they 
were  small  and  shriveled. 

"After  that  evil  times  came  upon  Jerusalem — wars 
and  dire  calamities.  There  was  no  time  to  open  the 
fountains  again  and  lead  the  great  stream  back  to  its  bed. 
So  the  fruit  trees  on  the  hillsides  surrounding  the  city 
died,  some  in  the  first  summer  drouth,  others  in  the 
second,  and  the  few  remaining  ones  in  the  third.  The 
land  round  about  Jerusalem  became  a  barren  waste, 
as  it  is  to  this  day." 

Gabriel  picked  up  a  flint  and  began  to  bore  the  ground 
with  it.  "But  it  happened,"  he  continued,  "that  the 
Jews  on  their  return  from  Babylon  could  not  find  the 
place  where  the  brook  had  been,  nor  could  they  find  the 
choked  fountain-springs.  Not  in  all  this  time  has  any 
one  been  able  to  locate  them. 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  149 

"But  we  who  sit  here  pining  for  water,  why  cannot 
we  look  for  Hezekiah's  fountains?  Why  do  not  we 
search  for  the  great  brook  and  all  the  springs?  Could 
we  but  find  them,  trees  would  again  grow  on  these  rocky 
slopes  and  this  land  would  become  rich  and  fruitful.  It 
would  be  far  better  than  finding  gold." 

When  Gabriel  had  finished  speaking  the  others  pon 
dered  his  words;  they  conceded  that  it  might  be  as  he  had 
said — that  the  great  brook  could  perhaps  be  found;  but 
no  one  made  a  move  to  begin  the  search,  not  even  Gabriel 
himself.  It  was  plain  that  he  had  only  talked  to  quiet 
his  longings. 

Then  Bo  Ingmar  Mansson,  who  had  sat  silent  the 
whole  time  listening  to  the  others,  spoke.  He  did  not 
have  the  fever,  but  no  one  was  more  anxious  to  find  fresh 
water  than  he;  for  Gertrude,  too,  had  fallen  ill,  and  lay 
craving  for  water.  So  he,  like  the  others,  could  think 
of  nothing  but  fountains  and  streams. 

"My  thoughts  are  not  upon  such  sacred  and  wonderful 
waters  as  yours,"  said  Bo  quietly,  "but  from  morning 
to  night  I  dream  of  a  shining  river  whose  waters  run 
clear,  and  fresh,  and  pure." 

The  peasants  looked  up  in  eager  suspense. 

"I'm  thinking  of  a  stream,  fed  by  many  brooks  and 
creeks,  whose  waters  flow  down  from  the  dark  forest  so 
clear  and  transparent  that  one  can  see  all  the  glittering 
pebble-stones  that  form  its  bed.  And  that  stream  is 
not  dried  up  like  Kedron,  nor  is  it  a  mere  phantasy,  like 
the  river  of  Ezekiel,  nor  impossible  to  find,  like  Heze- 


150  THE  HOLY  CITY 

kiah's  brook,  but  it  flows  and  surges.     Fm  thinking  of 
the  Dal  river." 

The  men  said  not  a  word.  They  sat  silent,  with  eyes 
downcast.  At  the  mention  of  the  Dal  river  all  thought 
of  the  lost  fountains  and  streams  of  Palestine  vanished 
from  their  minds. 

That  day,  at  noon,  another  death  occurred.  It  was 
one  of  the  Gunnar  children  that  died — a  bright  little 
lad  who  had  endeared  himself  to  them  all.  Yet  none 
of  the  Swedes  seemed  to  mourn  for  the  child;  instead 
they  were  filled  with  terror.  To  them  the  little  dead  boy 
lay  there  as  a  sign  that  they  could  never  recover  from 
this  illness. 

There  were  the  usual  hasty  preparations  for  the  burial. 
The  men  who  made  the  coffin  wondered  who  would  do 
that  work  for  them,  and  the  women  who  dressed  the 
body  talked  of  how  they  wanted  to  be  laid  out.  "Re 
member,  in  case  you  outlive  me,"  said  one  woman  to  the 
other,  "that  I'd  like  to  be  buried  in  my  own  clothes." 
"And  bear  in  mind,"  said  the  other,  "that  I  want  black 
crepe  on  the  coffin,  and  want  to  be  buried  with  my  wed 
ding-ring." 

In  the  midst  of  the  funeral  arrangements  a  whisper 
passed  through  the  colony.  No  one  knew  who  had 
started  it,  but  once  it  was  in  the  air  it  set  them  all  think 
ing.  As  often  happens,  they  thought  at  first  that  what 
had  been  suggested  was  not  feasible,  but  by  and  by  it 
impressed  them  as  being  the  only  sensible  course  to 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  151 

pursue.  Soon  all  the  colonists,  both  Swedes  and  Amer 
icans — sick  and  hale — were  saying  that  the  Dalecarlians 
should  be  sent  back  to  their  homeland. 

The  Americans  feared  that  all  these  peasants  would 
die  if  they  remained  in  Jerusalem.  However  regrettable 
it  might  be  to  have  so  many  good  people  leave  the  colony, 
they  felt  that  it  would  be  far  better  for  them  to  go  home 
and  serve  the  cause  of  God  in  their  own  country  than  to 
perish  here. 

The  Swedes  at  first  felt  that  they  could  not  tear  them 
selves  away  from  this  land,  with  its  sacred  places  and  mem 
ories.  They  trembled  at  the  thought  of  again  being 
thrust  out  into  the  world  of  unrest  and  strife,  after  the 
peaceful  and  sheltered  community  life  of  the  colony. 
Some  declared  they  would  rather  die  than  leave.  Then 
came  thoughts  of  home,  insistent  and  beguiling.  "Per 
haps,  after  all,  we  might  as  well  go,"  they  said  now. 

Suddenly  they  heard  the  bell  that  usually  called  the 
colonists  to  prayers,  and  knew  it  meant  that  they  should 
assemble  in  the  meeting-room.  They  were  startled 
and  much  perturbed,  for  they  understood,  of  course, 
that  Mrs.  Gordon  was  calling  them  together  in  order 
to  consult  with  them  about  the  matter  of  their  home- 
going.  They  did  not  know  themselves  just  what  they 
wished  to  do,  but  the  mere  thought  that  they  could 
get  away  from  all  this  sickness  and  death  brought 
with  it  a  sense  of  relief.  Some,  who  were  very  ill, 
actually  got  up  and  dressed,  that  they  might  attend -the 
meeting. 


152  THE  HOLY  CITY 

There  was  no  such  quietude  and  orderliness  as  pre 
vailed  at  regular  meetings.  Instead  of  sitting  down, 
as  usual,  people  stood  about  in  groups,  talking.  They 
were  all  more  or  less  agitated,  none  more  so  than  Hel- 
gum,  he  who  had  persuaded  the  Dalecarlians  to  come 
to  Jerusalem.  Realizing  fully  the  weight  of  responsi 
bility  he  had  taken  upon  himself,  he  went  from  one  to 
another,  urging  them  to  go  back  to  Sweden. 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  worn  and  troubled.  She  seemed  so 
undecided  as  to  what  should  be  done  that  she  dreaded 
to  open  the  meeting.  They  had  never  seen  her  hesitate 
like  this. 

The  Dalecarlians  were  for  the  most  part  silent.  They 
were  too  weak  and  ill  to  think  for  themselves,  and  stood 
waiting  for  the  others  to  decide  for  them. 

The  young  American  women  felt  so  sorry  for  these 
suffering  people  that  they  wept,  and  implored  their  com 
patriots  to  send  the  Swedes  home  rather  than  let  them 
remain  here  to  die. 

While  this  matter  was  eagerly  discussed,  for  and 
against,  the  door  opened  softly  and  Karin  Ingmarsson 
entered. 

Karin  had  aged  perceptibly.  She  was  now  quite  frail 
and  bent.  Her  face  had  grown  thin  and  haggard  and 
her  hair  had  turned  almost  white.  Since  the  death  of 
her  husband,  Halvor  Halvorsson,  she  had  rarely  been 
known  to  leave  her  room,  where  she  sat  all  day  long  in  a 
big  easy-chair  Halvor  had  made  for  her.  Now  and  then 
she  would  mend  or  sew  a  little  for  the  two  children  still 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  153 

left  to  her;  but  most  of  the  time  she  sat  with  her  hands 
crossed,  gazing  straight  before  her. 

No  one  could  enter  a  room  more  modestly  than  did 
Karin,  but  now,  for  some  reason,  they  all  ceased  talking 
when  she  appeared,  and  turned  to  look  at  her.  She  stole 
quietly  up  the  side  aisle  to  where  Mrs.  Gordon  was  stand 
ing,  and  the  latter  greeted  her  with  outstretched  hand. 

"We  are  gathered  here  to  talk  over  this  matter  of 
sending  you  home,"  Mrs.  Gordon  told  her.  "How  do 
you  feel  about  it,  Karin?" 

For  an  instant  Karin  seemed  overcome.  Then  into 
her  tired  eyes  came  a  look  of  intense  longing.  She  saw, 
as  in  a  vision,  the  old  farm,  and  herself  sitting  once  more 
by  the  open  fire  in  the  living-room,  or  standing  at  the 
gate  of  a  spring  morning  to  watch  the  cows  go  out  to 
pasture. 

This  lasted  but  a  moment.  Karin  immediately  drew 
herself  up  and  her  face  took  on  its  habitual  expression  of 
stolid  endurance.  "There's  one  thing  I  should  like  to 
know,"  she  said  in  English,  loud  enough  for  all  to  hear. 
"It  was  the  voice  of  God  that  called  us  to  Jerusalem; 
has  anyone  heard  the  voice  of  God  command  us  to 
return  ? " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.     No  one  had  a  word  to  say. 

Karin,  like  all  the  rest,  was  suffering  from  fever,  and 
had  barely  finished  speaking  when  she  swayed,  as  if 
about  to  fall.  Mrs.  Gordon  quickly  caught  her  in  her 
arms  and  led  her  away. 

As  Karin  went  past  a  group  of  peasants  from  her  own 


154  THE  HOLY  CITY 

parish,  one  or  two  nodded  to  her  and  said:  "Thank 
you  for  that,  Karin." 

The  moment  she  had  left  the  room  the  Americans  again 
spoke  of  sending  the  Swedes  home,  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred.  The  Dalecarlians,  without  a  word,  quietly 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"Why  are  you  going?"  said  one  of  the  Americans. 
"The  meeting  is  about  to  begin;  we  are  only  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Gordon." 

"Don't  you  know  that  everything  has  already  been 
settled?"  replied  Ljung  Bjorn.  "You  needn't  hold 
any  meeting  on  our  account.  We  came  near  to  forgetting, 
but  now  we  remember,  that  no  one  save  God  can  order 
our  comings  and  goings." 

The  Americans  observed  in  astonishment  that  Ljung 
Bjorn  and  his  fellow  countrymen  held  their  heads  higher 
now,  and  did  not  look  so  despondent  and  ill  as  when 
they  entered  the  room.  Their  strength  and  courage  had 
returned  when  the  way  they  must  take  was  made  clear. 
They  no  longer  thought  of  fleeing  from  peril. 

Gertrude  lay  ill  in  the  little  chamber  which  she  once 
shared  with  Gunhild.  It  was  a  bright  and  cosy  room. 
Gabriel  and  Bo  had  made  all  the  furniture,  which  was 
more  decorative  than  that  of  the  other  rooms.  The 
white  curtains  at  the  windows  and  the  bed  hangings  Ger 
trude  had  herself  woven  and  hem-stitched  and  edged 
with  lace. 

Since  the  death  of  Gunhild,  Betsy  Nelson,  a  Swedish- 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  155 

American  girl,  had  been  Gertrude's  room-mate.  Betsy 
was  devoted  to  Gertrude  and  now  that  the  latter  lay  ill 
she  nursed  her  with  rare  tenderness. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  the  day  the  Dalecarlians 
had  decided  to  remain  in  Jerusalem,  Gertrude  was  in 
a  high  fever,  and  talked  incessantly.  Betsy,  who  sat 
at  the  bedside  of  the  sick  girl,  tried  to  soothe  her. 

Presently  the  door  opened  very  gently  and  in  came  Bo; 
he  entered  as  quietly  as  possible,  and  did  not  come  for 
ward,  but  stopped  just  inside  the  door.  Gertrude  was 
apparently  unconscious  of  his  presence,  but  Betsy  quickly 
turned  round  to  order  him  out  of  the  sick-room.  But 
when  she  saw  Bo's  face  she  felt  sorry  for  him.  "The 
poor  man  surely  thinks  that  Gertrude  is  going  to  die!" 
she  thought.  "I  suppose  he  feels  that  there  is  no  hope 
for  her  now  that  her  people  are  to  remain  in  Jerusalem." 
She  saw  at  once  that  Bo  was  in  love  with  Gertrude. 
"I'd  better  let  him  stay,"  she  thought.  "Anyhow,  I 
haven't  the  heart  to  deny  him  the  comfort  of  seeing  her 
while  he  can." 

So  Bo  was  allowed  to  remain  just  inside  the  door. 
He  could  hear  every  word  Gertrude  said.  Her  fever 
was  not  so  high  as  to  make  her  quite  delirious,  but  she 
talked  continually  of  rivers  and  wells,  like  all  the  other 
sick  people,  and  complained  that  she  was  suffering  agonies 
from  the  burning  thirst  that  never  left  her. 

Betsy  poured  some  water  into  a  glass,  and  offered  it 
to  her.  "Drink  this,  dear,"  she  said,  "it  isn't  bad." 

Gertrude  raised  her  head  a  little  from  the  pillow,  seized 


156  THE  HOLY  CITY 

the  glass  with  both  hands  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  Then 
she  drew  back,  without  even  tasting  the  water.  "Don't 
you  notice  how  horribly  it  smells?"  she  whimpered. 
"Do  you  want  me  to  die?" 

"The  water  is  both  tasteless  and  odourless,"  Betsy  as 
sured  her.  "It  has  been  thoroughly  boiled  and  filtered, 
so  that  the  sick  may  safely  drink  it." 

Betsy  tried  her  best  to  make  her  drink,  but  Gertrude 
pushed  the  glass  away  so  violently  that  half  its  contents 
were  spilled  on  the  coverlet. 

"I'm  sick  enough  already,  without  your  trying  to 
poison  me,"  moaned  Gertrude. 

"If  you  would  only  take  a  few  sips  of  this  water  you'd 
soon  feel  better,"  Betsy  persisted. 

Gertrude  suddenly  broke  into  sobs. 

"My  precious  child,  you  mustn't  cry  like  that!" 
soothed  Betsy. 

"It  seems  dreadful  that  no  one  can  fetch  me  some 
water  that's  fit  to  drink;  that  I  must  lie  here  and  die  of 
thirst  without  a  soul  to  take  pity  on  me." 

"You  know,  dear,  that  we  will  gladly  do  everything 
we  can  for  you,"  said  Betsy,  with  a  caress. 

"Then  why  don't  you  fetch  me  some  water?  I'm 
only  suffering  from  thirst.  I'd  feel  all  right  again  if  I 
could  just  have  a  drink  of  fresh  water." 

"There  is  no  better  water  than  this  to  be  found  in 
Jerusalem,"  sighed  Betsy  mournfully. 

Gertrude  took  no  notice  of  this,  but  went  on  com 
plaining:  "It  wouldn's  seem  so  hard  if  one  did  not  know 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  157 

there  was  good  water  to  be  had.  To  think  that  one 
must  lie  here  and  perish  with  thirst,  when  right  here  in 
Jerusalem  there  is  a  whole  well  full  of  pure  fresh  water!" 

Bo  started  at  that  and  glanced  questioningly  at  Betsy, 
who,  with  a  shrug,  shook  her  head  as  much  as  to  say, 
that  is  just  something  she  imagines. 

As  Bo  still  looked  wonderingly  at  her,  Betsy  tried  to 
make  Gertrude  explain  what  she  meant.  "I  doubt  that 
there  is  any  really  good  water  to  be  found  in  Jerusalem  at 
this  time,"  she  said  to  draw  Gertrude  out. 

"It  seems  strange,  Betsy,  that  you  should  have  such  a 
poor  memory!  Or  perhaps  you  were  not  with  us  the  day 
we  visited  the  place  where  Solomon's  Temple  once 
stood?" 

"Indeed  I  was." 

"Then  if  you  remember,  it  was  not  in  Omar's  Mosque — 
the  beautiful  building  at  the  center  of  the  square —  "  said 
Gertrude  thoughtfully,  "but  in  that  ugly  old  mosque 
at  one  end,  that  we  found  a  well." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Betsy,  "but  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  think  the  water  there  better  than  elsewhere 
in  the  city." 

"It  is  hard  to  have  to  talk  so  much  when  I  have  such 
a  burning  thirst,"  Gertrude  complained.  "You  should 
have  listened  when  Miss  Young  told  us  about  the  well." 

Even  though  it  caused  her  agony  to  speak  with  lips 
dry  and  throat  parched  she  began  to  narrate  what  she 
had  heard  about  the  well.  "That  is  the  only  well  in 
Jerusalem  where  there  is  always  good  water,"  she  said. 


158  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"And  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  its  springs  are  in  Para 
dise." 

"How  can  you  or  anyone  else  know  that?"  asked 
Betsy,  with  a  smile. 

"But  I  do,"  replied  Gertrude  earnestly.  "Miss  Young 
told  us  how  once  during  a  severe  summer  drouth  a  poor 
water-carrier  went  into  the  old  mosque  for  water.  He 
hung  his  bucket  on  a  hook  at  the  end  of  the  well-rope 
and  lowered  it.  But  when  the  bucket  touched  the 
surface  of  the  water  it  slipped  off  the  hook  and  sank  to  the 
bottom.  Of  course  the  man  did  not  want  to  lose  his 
bucket;  so  he  hastened  to  fetch  two  other  water-carriers 
and  got  them  to  lower  him  into  the  well."  Gertrude 
raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  looked  at  Betsy  with 
feverish  eyes.  "He  went  very  far  down,  you  understand, 
and  the  lower  he  went  down  the  more  surprised  he  was; 
for  from  the  bottom  of  the  well  came  a  soft  light.  When 
he  at  last  felt  firm  ground  under  him  the  water  had  dis 
appeared,  and  he  found  himself  standing  in  a  beautiful 
garden.  Neither  sun  nor  moon  shone  there,  but  a  mellow, 
dawnlike  light  rested  over  the  place,  so  that  he  could  see 
it  all  quite  distinctly.  The  strangest  thing  was  that 
everything  down  there  appeared  to  be  asleep.  The  petals 
of  all  the  flowers  were  closed,  the  leaves  of  the  trees  were 
folded  and  the  grass  lay  limp  on  the  ground.  The  most 
glorious  trees  stood  sleeping,  their  crowns  resting  the  one 
against  the  other,  and  the  b.irds  sat  motionless  on  the 
branches.  Nothing  down  there  was  either  red  or  green; 
but  everything  looked  gray  as  ashes — yet  it  was  very 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  159 

beautiful,  understand."  Gertrude  pictured  it  all  with 
extreme  particularity,  anxious  that  Betsy  should  be 
convinced. 

"What  happened  to  the  man  after  that?" 

"For  a  moment  he  stood  wondering  where  he  was; 
then  he  began  to  fear  that  the  men  who  had  let  him 
down  would  lose  patience  if  he  stayed  too  long.  But 
before  allowing  himself  to  be  drawn  up  he  went  over  to 
the  biggest  and  loveliest  tree  in  the  whole  garden  and 
broke  a  branch  off  to  take  with  him." 

"I  should  think  he  might  have  stayed  a  little  longer 
in  the  garden,"  said  Betsy,  smiling,  but  Gertrude  took 
no  notice  of  the  interruption.  "When  he  came  up 
again,"  she  went  on,  "he  told  the  men  of  what  he  had  seen, 
and  showed  them  the  branch  from  the  garden  below. 
Just  think!  the  moment  the  branch  came  into  the  light 
and  air  it  began  to  live.  The  leaves  unfolded;  they 
lost  their  gray  look  and  became  fresh  and  green.  The 
other  water-carriers  knew  then  that  he  had  been  down 
to  the  Garden  of  Paradise,  which  lies  slumbering  under 
Jerusalem  awaiting  the  Day  of  Judgment,  when  it  will 
rise  again  with  new  glory  and  splendour."  Gertrude 
now  breathed  heavily  and  sank  back  upon  her  pillow. 

"Dear  child,  you'll  tire  yourself  talking  so  much," 
said  Betsy. 

"I  must  talk  so  that  you  will  understand  why  there 
is  good  water  in  that  well.  Of  course  no  one  would 
have  believed  that  the  man  had  been  to  Paradise  if  he 
had  not  brought  the  branch  back  with  him,  for  that  little 


160  THE  HOLY  CITY 

branch  was  not  like  any  of  the  trees  of  this  earth.  Natur 
ally  the  other  water-carriers  immediately  wanted  to  go 
down  the  well  to  see  Paradise;  but  by  that  time  the 
water  had  returned,  and  however  deep  they  dived  they 
could  not  reach  the  bottom." 

"Then  no  one  else  has  seen  Paradise?" 

"No;  but  from  that  day  the  well  has  never  run  dry 
and  though  many,  oh,  ever  so  many  have  tried  it,  no 
one  else  has  succeeded  in  reaching  the  bottom."  Ger 
trude  sighed  deeply.,  then  she  began  afresh.:  "I  suppose 
it  isn't  intended  that  we  shall  see  Paradise  in  this  life." 

"I  suppose  not,"  Betsy  assented. 

"But  for  us  the  important  thing  is  to  know  that  it  lies 
peacefully  waiting  for  us." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Betsy. 

"And  now  you  surely  understand  that  there  must  al 
ways  be  pure  fresh  water  in  the  well  whose  springs  are 
in  Paradise." 

"Dear  heart!  I  only  wjsh  I  could  get  you  some  of  that 
water!"  said  Betsy  wistfully. 

Just  then  Betsy's  little  sister  came  to  the  door  and 
beckoned  to  her.  "Mother  has  been  taken  ill  and  is 
calling  for  you,"  said  the  child. 

Betsy  hesitated  a  moment;  she  did  not  see  how  she 
could  leave  Gertrude.  Then  she  thought  of  Bo,  who  was 
still  standing  down  by  the  door.  "You  can  stay  here  with 
Gertrude  till  I  come  back,  can't  you?"  she  said  to  him. 

"Yes,"  replied  Bo.     "I'll  look  after  her  as  well  as  I 


can." 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  161 

"Try  to  make  her  drink  a  little  water,  to  take  her  mind 
from  the  thought  that  she  will  die  of  thirst,"  Betsy  whis 
pered  to  him  before  leaving. 

Bo  sat  down  in  the  chair  beside  the  bed.  It  was  all 
the  same  to  Gertrude  whether  he  or  Betsy  sat  there;  she 
went  right  on  talking  about  the  Well  of  Paradise,  and 
lay  picturing  to  herself  how  pure  and  fresh  and  cooling 
its  water  must  be. 

"You  see,  Bo,  I  can't  make  Betsy  believe  the  water  in 
that  well  is  better  than  that  in  any  other  well  in  Jerusalem. 
That  is  why  she  won't  try  to  get  me  some." 

Bo  had  become  very  thoughtful.  In  a  while  he  said: 
"I  wonder  if  I  shouldn't  go  fetch  you  a  little  of  that 


water." 


Gertrude  in  alarm  gripped  him  by  the  coat-sleeve,  to 
hold  him  back.  "No,  no!  you  mustn't  do  it.  I  only 
complain  to  Betsy  because  I'm  so  thirsty.  I  know 
well  enough  that  she  can't  get  me  any  water  from 
the  Well  of  Paradise.  Miss  Young  has  told  us  that 
the  Mohammedans  look  upon  it  as  something  so  sacred 
that  they  never  allow  any  Christian  to  take  water 
from  it." 

"I  could  dress  myself  up  as  a  Mohammedan,"  Bo 
suggested. 

"Don't  think  of  such  a  thing!"  cried  Gertrude.  "That 
would  be  very  foolish  of  you." 

However,  Bo  could  not  dismiss  the  thought.  "If  I 
•vere  to  speak  to  the  old  cobbler  who  mends  our  shoes, 
I'm  sure  he  would  let  me  wear  his  clothes." 


162  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Gertrude  lay  quietly  thinking  a  moment;  then  she 
said:  "Is  the  cobbler  here  today?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Bo. 

"Anyhow,  nothing  will  come  of  it,"  sighed  Gertrude. 

"I  had  better  be  off  at  once,"  said  Bo.  "This  late  in 
the  day  there's  no  fear  of  my  being  sunstruck." 

"  But  aren't  you  dreadfully  afraid  ?  You  must  know  that 
if  they  recognize  you  as  a  Christian  they  will  kill  you." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid,"  laughed  Bo.  "Once  I 
am  properly  fitted  out  with  a  red  fez  and  white  turban  and 
get  my  feet  into  a  pair  of  shabby  yellow  slippers  and  my 
blouse  tucked  up  the  way  water-carriers  wear  theirs, 
no  one  will  ever  guess  that  I'm  not  a  son  of  Islam." 

"What  will  you  fetch  the  water  in?" 

"I'll  take  two  of  our  big  copper  buckets  and  hang 
them  on  a  yoke  laid  across  my  shoulders." 

Bo  could  see  that  the  very  thought  of  his  going  to 
fetch  water  had  put  new  life  into  Gertrude,  though  she 
still  continued  to  protest.  At  the  same  time  it  struck 
him  how  impossible  the  whole  thing  was.  "How  could 
I  get  water  at  the  mosque?"  thought  he — "a  place  so 
sacred  to  the  Mohammedans  that  a  Christian  may 
hardly  set  foot  in  it?  The  brethren  in  the  colony  would 
not  consent  to  my  attempting  anything  of  the  kind, 
however  much  I  might  like  to.  Besides,  it  wouldn't 
help  matters  if  I  went,  for  the  water  in  the  Well  of  Para 
dise  is  probably  just  as  bad  as  the  rest  of  the  water 
here." 

While  he  sat  pondering  this  he  was  surprised  to  hear 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  163 

Gertrude  say:  "At  this  time  of  day  there  are  not  many 
people  out  on  the  road." 

"She  evidently  expects  me  to  go,"  thought  Bo.  "Now 
I'm  in  a  pretty  fix!  Gertrude  seems  so  hopeful  that  I  dare 
not  tell  her  this  thing  can't  be  done.  Yes — you  are 
right,"  he  said  hesitatingly;  "I'll  have  no  trouble  what 
ever  until  I  come  to  the  Damascus  gate,  unless  I  happen 
to  meet  some  of  the  colonists." 

"They  may  perhaps  forbid  your  going,"  said  Gertrude, 
in  alarm. 

Bo  was  about  to  say  something  to  that  effect,  but  see 
ing  how  troubled  Gertrude  was,  he  weakened.  "There's 
no  fear  of  their  stopping  me,"  he  replied  in  a  cheery  voice, 
"for  they  won't  even  recognize  me,  coming  dressed  as  a 
water-carrier,  with  the  big  copper  buckets  dangling 
about  my  legs." 

Gertrude  seemed  reassured.  Her  thoughts  at  once 
took  a  fresh  turn.  "Those  buckets  must  hold  a  lot!" 

"You'd  better  believe  they  do,"  said  Bo.  "You 
couldn't  drink  up  all  the  water  they  can  hold  in  days  and 
days." 

Gertrude  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  fairly  begged 
him  to  continue. 

"Once  inside  the  Damascus  gate  I  shall  have  some 
difficulty  getting  past  the  crowds,"  he  told  her. 

"The  other  water-carriers  manage  to  do  it." 

"Well,  you  see,  it  isn't  only  people  that  block  the 
way,  there  are  camels  too."  Bo  tried  to  bring  up  all 
possible  obstacles. 


164  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Do  you  think  you'll  be  long  getting  back?"  asked 
the  sick  girl  anxiously. 

Bo  felt  that  it  would  never  do  to  tell  Gertrude  how 
impossible  the  whole  thing  was.  So  he  said:  "With  the 
buckets  full  of  water,  I  might  have  to  wait  a  while, 
but  now  that  they  are  empty  I  can  slip  through,  between 
the  camels." 

Gertrude  put  out  a  thin  hand  and  stroked  Bo's  hand. 
"It  is  so  good  of  you  to  go  and  fetch  water  for  me,"  she 
said  in  the  softest  voice. 

"God  forgive  me  for  making  her  think  I  can  do  it!" 
he  murmured.  As  Gertrude  continued  to  caress  his  hand 
he  went  on  to  tell  her  how  he  would  proceed,  as  though 
he  were  really  on  his  way.  "Now,  I'll  go  straight  on  till 
I  come  to  the  Via  Dolorosa." 

"There  are  never  any  crowds  in  that  street,"  said  Ger 
trude  jubilantly. 

"No;  there  I'm  not  likely  to  meet  anyone  except  a  few 
old  nuns,  and  can  continue  without  stopping  till  I  get 
down  to  the  seraglio  and  the  prison."  Bo  paused  a  mo 
ment.  Gertrude  still  caressed  his  hand.  It  was  to  him  as 
a  silent  prayer  to  go  on.  "I  verily  believe  that  just  my 
talking  of  going  for  water  makes  her  feel  less  thirsty. 
Now  I  must  tell  her  all  that  happens  along  the  way." 

"There's  a  big  crowd  in  front  of  the  prison.  A  police 
man  is  dragging  a  thief  along  to  lock  him  up.  Every 
body  is  talking  about  the  arrest." 

"But  you'll  hurry  by  as  fast  as  you  can,  won't  you?" 
said  Gertrude. 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  165 

"If  I  do  that  every  one  will  know  that  I'm  not  a  native. 
No,  I  must  stop  a  while  and  listen,  as  if  I  understood  all 
they  said." 

"When  you  don't  understand  a  word  of  it?" 

"Oh,  I  understand  enough  to  know  the  talk  is  about 
one  caught  stealing.  As  there  is  no  more  excitement 
to  be  got  out  of  that  thief,  the  crowd  scatters  and  I  move 
on.  Now  I  have  only  to  pass  through  a  dark  archway, 
and  I'm  at  the  Temple  Square.  As  I  try  to  step  over 
a  youngster  lying  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  path  a  boy 
trips  me  and  I  begin  to  swear  in  Swedish.  Now  I  am 
frightened  at  myself,  and  look  furtively  at  the  young 
ones  to  see  whether  they  noticed  anything;  but  they 
lie  weltering  in  the  dirt — lazy  and  indifferent  as  before." 

Gertrude's  hand  still  rested  on  Bo's — which  made  him 
so  extravagantly  happy  that  he  could  have  said  or  done 
anything  in  the  world  to  please  her.  It  seemed  to  him  as 
if  he  were  telling  a  child  a  fairy-story,  and  for  the  sheer 
fun  of  it  he  embellished  the  tale  more  and  more.  "I 
shall  have  to  make  as  much  of  this  thing  as  I  can," 
he  thought,  "as  it  seems  to  amuse  her.  Later  I  must  try 
to  get  out  of  it  in  some  way.  Now  I  find  myself  in  the 
large  open  Temple  Square  in  the  sunlight.  I  must  con 
fess  that  for  the  moment  I  can't  think  of  you  or  the  well 
or  the  water  I'm  to  fetch." 

"What  in  the  world  has  happened?"  asked  Gertrude, 
smiling  at  Bo. 

"Nothing  has  happened,"  he  said,  with  positive  assur 
ance;  "but  it  is  so  light  and  beautiful  and  peaceful  out 


166  THE  HOLY  CITY 

here,  so  different  from  the  dingy  town  I  have  just  passed 
through,  that  I  only  want  to  stand  and  look  about.  There 
is  so  much  to  be  seen  here — the  splendid  Mosque  of  Omar, 
standing  on  the  raised  ground  in  the  centre,  and  the  many 
pavilions  and  archways  and  stairways  and  enclosed  wells. 
Then,  too,  think  of  all  the  sacred  memories  this  place  holds! 
Standing  on  the  site  of  the  old  Temple  of  the  Jews,  I  wish 
the  paving-stones  could  speak  and  tell  me  of  all  that  has 
transpired  here." 

"But  isn't  it  very  imprudent  of  you  to  stand  there  so 
long,  considering  how  foreign  you  look  ? " 

"Gertrude  wants  me  to  hurry  home  with  that  water," 
thought  Bo.  "Strange  how  eager  she  is.  I  believe  she 
imagines  I'm  on  my  way  to  the  Well  of  Paradise."  And 
indeed  it  was  the  same  with  himself;  for  he  had  become 
so  absorbed  in  his  story  that  he  seemed  to  see  before  him 
the  whole  Temple  Square,  and  talked  of  the  make-believe 
adventures  as  though  they  were  actual  happenings. 

"Nor  do  I  stand  still  very  long,  but  hurry  past  Omar's 
Mosque;  past  the  great  dark  cypress  trees  to  the  south, 
and  past  the  big  reservoir,  which  is  said  to  be  the  copper 
vessel  from  Solomon's  Temple.  Everywhere  I  see  people 
lying  about  on  the  pavements,  basking  in  the  sunshine. 
Here  and  there  I  come  upon  children  at  play  and  idlers 
asleep.  A  dervish  sheik  is  sitting  on  the  ground  sur 
rounded  by  his  disciples.  As  he  talks  to  them  he  bends 
forward  and  back,  forward  and  back,  and  as  I  stand  watch 
ing  him  the  thought  comes  to  me  that  Jesus  once  sat  in 
this  very  Temple  Place,  teaching  His  disciples.  Suddenly 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  167 

the  dervish  sheik  looks  up  at  me.  You  can  imagine  how 
frightened  I  am!  He  has  big  dark  eyes  that  look  straight 
through  me." 

"I  only  hope  he  won't  see  that  you  are  not  a  regular 
water-carrier!"  said  Gertrude. 

"He  doesn't  appear  to  be  in  the  least  surprised  at  see 
ing  me;  but  now  I  have  to  pass  by  two  real  water-carriers 
drawing  water  from  a  well.  As  they  call  to  me,  I  glance 
back  and  motion  to  them  that  I'm  going  into  the  mosque." 

"What  if  they  should  suspect  you  that  you  are  not  a 
Mussulman?" 

"They  are  not  looking  my  way  now,  but  stand  talk 
ing  and  laughing." 

"Maybe  they  see  something  that's  funnier  than  you 


are." 


"Maybe.  Ah!  Now  at  last  I'm  at  the  old  mosque 
El  Aksa,  where  the  Well  of  Paradise  is.  An-d  at  the  gate 
standing  close  together  are  the  twin  pillars  of  which  it  has 
been  said  that  no  one  can  pass  between  them  save  he 
who  is  without  sin.  So  I  shall  not  attempt  to  squeeze 
myself  through  to-day,  when  I'm  out  to  steal  water." 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  Gertrude  protested.  "Why, 
what  you  are  now  doing  is  the  kindest  thing  you've  ever 
done  in  all  your  life."  She  had  just  enough  fever  not 
to  be  able  to  distinguish  between  the  actual  and  the 
seeming,  and  fully  believed  that  Bo  had  gone  to  get 
water  for  her  from  the  Well  of  Paradise. 

"I  take  off  my  slippers  to  go  into  the  mosque."  Bo 
was  astonished  at  the  ease  with  which  he  made  up  this 


168  THE  HOLY  CITY 

tale.  But  he  dreaded  the  moment  when  he  would  have 
to  tell  Gertrude  that  in  reality  he  could  not  get  her  the 
water.  "Coming  in,  I  see  the  well  to  the  left  amid  a 
forest  of  pillars.  Above  it  there  is  a  windlass,  with  a  rope 
and  hook,  so  it's  easy  to  lower  and  fill  the  buckets.  And 
indeed  it  is  pure,  clear  water  I'm  drawing  here.  'Wait 
till  Gertrude  sees  and  tastes  it,'  I  say  to  myself,  ' she'll 
be  better  right  away."' 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  long  coming  home  with  it,"  said 
Gertrude  eagerly. 

"I'm  not  quite  as  sure  of  myself  as  I  was  a  while  ago," 
Bo  replied.  "Now  that  I  have  the  water  I'm  afraid  of 
losing  it,  for,  going  toward  the  door,  I  hear  cries  and 
shouts,  and  my  fears  increase." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Gertrude,  now  pale 
with  anxiety. 

Seeing  how  real  this  was  becoming  to  her,  Bo  gave  full 
rein  to  his  imagination.  "It  means  that  all  Jerusalem 
is  after  me!"  he  exclaimed,  then  held  his  breath  a  mo 
ment,  in  pretended  terror.  "All  who  were  lying  about 
on  the  stones  when  I  came  have  risen,  and  are  now  standing 
outside  the  mosque.  Their  shouts  are  bringing  people 
from  every  direction.  The  head  official  from  the  Mosque 
of  Omar  in  his  big  turban  and  lamb-skin  coat  comes 
rushing  up,  children  come  darting  out  from  doorways 
and  gateways  and  from  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
square  idlers  and  vagabonds  emerge.  I'm  confronted 
by  a  howling  threatening  mob.  I  see  only  open  mouths, 
waving  arms,  clenched  fists,  and  a  riot  of  colour — brown- 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  169 

striped  mantles,  red  sashes,  fluttering  tunics  and  yellow 
slippers." 

While  telling  this,  Bo  glanced  stealthily  at  Gertrude, 
who  no  longer  questioned  him,  but  listened  in  eager 
suspense.  In  her  excitement  she  had  raised  herself  a  little 
from  the  pillow. 

"Although  I  don't  understand  a  word  they  are  shout 
ing,  I  know  that  they  are  angry  because  a  Christian  has 
dared  to  take  water  from  the  Well  of  Paradise." 

Gertrude,  white  as  death,  sank  back  upon  her  pillow. 
"I  can  see  that  you'll  not  be  able  to  bring  me  any  of 
that  water,"  she  said  faintly. 

"No,  alas!"  he  thought.  But  perceiving  how  disap 
pointed  she  was,  he  weakened  again.  "After  all  I  shall 
have  to  see  that  Gertrude  gets  this  paradise-water." 

"Do  they  take  the  water  away  from  you?"  she  asked. 

"No;  at  first  they  only  stand  there  and  shriek.  They 
don't  seem  to  know  what  to  do."  Bo  hesitated  a  mo 
ment.  Nor  did  he  himself  know  how  to  proceed. 

Then  Gertrude  came  to  his  aid.  "I  was  hoping  that 
he  who  sat  talking  to  his  disciples  would  help  you,"  she 
said. 

Bo  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Perhaps  he  will.  I  see 
that  the  grand  official  in  the  fine  lamb-skin  coat  has  just 
said  something  to  the  people.  Suddenly  they  draw  their 
daggers  to  rush  upon  me.  It  looks  as  if  they  mean  to 
kill  me  on  the  spot.  But,  strange  to  say,  I  have  no  fear 
for  my  life;  I'm  only  afraid  the  water  will  be  spilled. 
The  instant  the  men  start  toward  me  I  set  the  buckets 


170  THE  HOLY  CITY 

on  the  ground  and  place  myself  in  front  of  them,  and, 
before  they  can  lay  hands  on  me,  I  strike  out  with  my 
fists  and  knock  them  down.  They  seem  taken  by  sur 
prise;  they  never  knew  before  what  it  was  to  fight  with  a 
Dalecarlian.  Instantly  they  scramble  to  their  feet,  and 
are  joined  by  others.  I'm  afraid  I  can't  hold  my  own 
against  so  many." 

"Now  you'll  see  that  the  dervish  sheik  will  come  and 
help  you,"  Gertrude  put  in. 

Bo  instantly  caught  at  this  straw.  "Yes,  he  has 
just  come  forward,  and  is  saying  a  few  words  to  the 
people.  They  at  once  leave  off  threatening  and  assaulting 


me." 


"I  think  I  know  what  he  does  now,"  said  Gertrude. 

"He  looks  at  me  with  calm,  penetrating  eyes." 

"And  then ?" 

Bo  tried  his  utmost  to  think  up  something,  but  he 
was  at  his  wits'  end.  "I'm  sure  you  must  have  guessed 
already,"  he  said  to  make  Gertrude  talk. 

The  sick  girl  saw  the  whole  scene  as  if  enacted  before 
her  eyes.  "Now  he  pushes  you  aside  and  looks  down 
into  the  buckets." 

"Yes,"  said  Bo,  "that  is  exactly  what  he  does." 

"He  looks  into  the  water  from  the  Well  of  Paradise," 
said  Gertrude  significantly. 

Bo,  without  knowing  it,  read  her  thoughts.  He  saw 
at  once  how  she  expected  the  story  to  end,  and  went  on 
narrating  with  much  fervour:  "You  know,  Gertrude, 
that  there  was  nothing  but  water  in  the  buckets  when 


THE  WELL  OF  PARADISE  171 

I  brought  them  out  from  El  Aksa — nothing  but  clear 


water. 

"And  now- 


"As  the  dervish  sheik  bends  over  the  buckets  I  see  two 
twigs  floating  in  the  water." 

"I  felt  sure  that  would  happen,  and  don't  you  see  that 
the  twigs  have  crumpled  gray  leaves  ? " 

"Yes." 

"The  dervish  must  be  some  sort  of  miracle  man." 

"I  think  he  is,"  said  Bo;  "and  he's  kind  and  compas 
sionate,  too." 

"He  bends  down  and  takes  up  the  twigs,"  said  Ger 
trude,  "and,  as  he  raises  them  high,  the  leaves  unfold  and 
become  fresh  and  green." 

"And  the  people  break  into  cries  of  rapture,"  BO 
quickly  struck  in.  "And  the  dervish,  holding  in  his  hand 
the  lovely  leaves,  goes  up  to  the  high  official  from  the 
i  mosque.  He  points  to  the  twigs  and  he  points  to  me. 
It's  easy  to  tell  what  he  is  saying — '  That  Christian  has 
brought  these  leafy  twigs  from  Paradise.  Do  you  not 
see  that  he  is  under  God's  protection?  It  would  never 
do  to  murder  him.'  Then  the  sheik  comes  over  to  me, 
still  holding  the  leaves.  I  can  see  how  they  shine  in  the 
sunlight,  and  change  colour;  now  they  are  red  as  copper, 
now  blue  as  steel.  He  helps  me  place  the  yoke  across 
my  shoulders,  and  signs  to  me  to  go.  I  hurry  away  at 
once,  but  I  keep  looking  back.  He  still  stands  there 
holding  the  shining  leaves  high  in  the  air,  and  the  crowds 
stand  gazing  at  him  in  silent  wonder." 


172  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"God  bless  him!"  cried  Gertrude,  smiling  up  at  Bo. 
"And  you  are  bringing  me  the  water  from  Paradise." 

"Yes,  I'm  coming  now,"  said  Bo. 

Gertrude  raised  her  head — expectant. 

"Good  God,  she  thinks  the  water  is  here.  It  was 
dreadful  of  me  to  deceive  her.  She  will  die  if  I  tell  her 
that  the  kind  of  water  she  craves  is  not  here." 

In  his  desperation  he  seized  the  glass  of  water  that 
Betsy  had  offered  Gertrude — and  held  it  out  to  her. 
"Now,  Gertrude,  will  you  have  a  taste  of  this  water  from 
Paradise?"  he  said. 

Gertrude  sat  up  in  bed,  grasped  the  glass  with  both 
hands,  and  greedily  swallowed  half  its  contents.  "Bless 
you  for  this!"  she  cried.  "You  have  saved  my  life." 

"You  shall  have  more  by  and  by,"  said  Bo. 

"I  want  you  to  give  the  other  sick  people  some  of  this 
water,  so  that  they,  too,  will  get  well." 

"The  water  from  the  Well  of  Paradise  is  for  you  alone." 

"But  you  must  drink  of  it  so  you'll  know  how  good  it 


is." 


"I  will,"  said  Bo,  joyfully  taking  the  glass.  He  turned 
it  so  that  his  lips  would  touch  the  place  where  hers  had 
just  rested. 

But  before  he  had  emptied  the  glass  Gertrude  had  sunk 
back  on  her  pillow  and  fallen  asleep  as  easily  and  quickly 
as  a  child. 


INGMAR  INGMARSSON 


INGMAR  INGMARSSON 

ONE  SUNDAY  afternoon,  when  the  Dalecarlian 
peasants  had  been  in  Jerusalem  about  a  year 
and  a  half,  they,  with  the  other  colonists,  were 
assembled  in  the  large  meeting-room  for  the  usual  Sab 
bath  service.  Although  it  was  drawing  on  toward  Christ 
mas,  the  weather  was  so  mild  that  they  could  sit  com 
fortably  with  all  the  windows  wide  open. 

In  the  midst  of  the  singing  of  a  hymn  the  gate-bell 
rang.  It  was  a  faint  and  modest  ring — just  a  single 
stroke — which  could  not  have  been  heard  had  the  win 
dows  been  closed.  A  young  man  seated  by  the  door 
went  out  to  open  the  gate. 

A  moment  later  a  heavy  footstep  was  heard  on  the 
marble  stairway.  Someone  was  mounting  slowly  and 
cautiously.  When  the  person  coming  up  had  reached 
the  top  step  he  paused  a  while  before  crossing  the  floor 
of  the  large  open  corridor  leading  to  the  assembly  room. 
Presently  the  door  was  opened  ever  so  little,  as  if  that 
was  as  far  as  it  would  go. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  footsteps  the  Dalecarlians 
involuntarily  lowered  their  voices  in  order  to  hear  better; 
and  now  they  all  turned  their  faces  toward  the  entrance, 
that  slow  hesitating  manner  of  opening  a  door  was  some 
thing  they  knew  so  well!  For  a  moment  they  quite  for- 


176  THE  HOLY  CITY 

got  where  they  were  and  fancied  they  were  back  in  their 
own  homes  in  Dalecarlia.  But  they  immediately  be 
thought  themselves,  and  looked  down  at  their  hymn- 
books. 

The  door  now  opened  a  little  farther,  but  without  the 
one  outside  coming  into  view.  The  colour  surged  into 
the  face  of  Karin  Ingmarsson,  and  of  one  or  two  of  the 
other  women,  as  they  tried  to  collect  their  thoughts  and 
follow  the  hymn,  while  the  men  sang  with  fuller  tone 
than  before,  without  trying  to  keep  in  tune. 

At  last,  when  the  door  was  about  half-open,  a  tall 
plain-looking  'man  appeared.  His  bearing  was  humble, 
and,  in  his  anxiety  not  to  disturb  the  service,  he  did  not 
go  quite  into /the  room,  but  stopped  just  inside  the  thresh 
old,  standing  with  head  bowed  and  hands  folded. 

His  clothes  were  of  fine  black  broadcloth,  but  were 
creased  and  baggy.  His  hands,  large,  strong  and  thick- 
veined,  stuck  far  out  from  under  a  pair  of  crumpled  cuffs. 
He  had  a  big  freckled  face  with  white  eyebrows,  a  pro 
truding  under-lip  and  a  drawn  look  about  the  mouth. 

The  moment  the  newcomer  appeared  inside  the  door 
Ljung  Bjorn  rose  to  his  feet,  but  went  right  on  singing. 
Immediately  all  the  Dalecarlians,  old  and  young,  stood 
up,  and  finished  the  hymn  standing.  They  kept  their 
eyes  on  their  hymn-books  and  not  a  smile  crossed  their 
faces;  but  now  and  then  one  would  steal  a  glance  at  the 
man  down  by  the  door. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  burst  of  song,  as  when  a  fire 
is  livened  by  a  gust  of  wind.  The  four  Ingmar  daughters, 


INGMAR  INGMARSSON  177 

all  of  whom  had  sweet  voices,  led  the  singing,  and  there 
was  a  vigour  and  a  jubilant  ring  to  the  music  that  had  not 
been  there  before.  The  Americans  looked  with  aston 
ishment  at  the  Dalecarlians,  who,  without  being  con 
scious  of  it,  were  singing  in  Swedish. 


BOOK  TWO 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER 

THE  DAY  after  Ingmar's  arrival  Karin  kept  to 
her  own  room  as  usual.  In  her  joy  at  seeing 
her  brother  again,  she  had  spent  the  previous 
evening  in  the  meeting-room  and  had  taken  part  in  the 
conversation.  But  now  her  old  lethargy  had  returned; 
she  sat  stiff  and  motionless  in  Halvor's  chair,  staring 
straight  before  her. 

The  door  opened  noiselessly  and  Ingmar  came  in. 
Karin  was  not  conscious  of  his  presence  until  he  stood 
quite  close  to  her.  Embarrassed  at  having  her  brother 
find  her  sitting  like  this,  with  idle  hands,  she  hastily 
took  up  a  half-finished  stocking. 

Ingmar  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down,  without  speak 
ing  to  or  looking  at  Karin.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that 
the  night  before  she  and  the  others  had  only  spoken  of 
their  life  in  Jerusalem,  and  that  he  had  not  told  them 
anything  about  himself  or  why  he  had  come  to  them. 
"It  must  be  this  he  has  come  to  tell  me,"  thought  Karin. 

Ingmar's  lips  moved,  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak,  but 
no  words  came. 

Karin,  meanwhile,  sat  regarding  him.  "How  he  has 
aged!"  she  thought.  "Father,  old  as  he  was,  had  not 

deeper  lines  in  his   forehead.     Ingmar  has  either  been 

181 


1 82  THE  HOLY  CITY 

very  ill  or  has  passed  through  some  sore  trial  since  I  last 
saw  him." 

She  wondered  what  had  happened.  She  had  a  vague 
recollection  that  her  sisters  had  once  read  aloud  some 
thing  from  a  letter  concerning  him,  but  at  that  time  she 
was  so  much  absorbed  by  her  own  sorrow  that  matters 
of  the  outer  world  which  did  not  immediately  affect 
herself  left  no  lasting  impression  upon  her  mind.  She 
tried  now,  in  her  own  peculiar  way,  to  make  Ingmar 
tell  her  how  he  had  fared  and  what  had  brought  him 
to  Jerusalem.  "It  is  good  of  you  to  come  in  to  see  me," 
she  said,  "so  that  I  may  hear  what  is  going  on  in  the 
old  parish." 

"There  are  many  things  that  I  am  sure  you  will  want 
to  know,"Ingmar  replied. 

"The  people  at  home  have  always  felt  they  must 
have  someone  to  lead  them,"  said  Karin,  speaking  slowly, 
as  if  trying  to  recall  something  that  had  long  been  absent 
from  her  mind.  "First  they  had  father,  then  Halvor, 
and  for  a  long  time  it  was  our  old  schoolmaster.  I 
wonder  whom  they  have  for  a  leader  now?" 

Ingmar  looked  down,  but  said  nothing. 

'(  It  is  the  pastor,  perhaps,"  pursued  Karin. 

Ingmar  sat  very  straight  in  his  chair  and  continued 
silent. 

"Or  maybe  it's  Ljung  Bjb'rn's  brother  Pehr  who  is  the 
big  man  of  the  parish?"  Nor  did  this  bring  forth  a  re 
sponse.  She  tried  again:  "I  know  that  in  the  old  days 
people  used  to  turn  to  the  master  of  Ingmar  Farm  for  help 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  183 

and  guidance,  but  of  course  one  would  hardly  expect  them 
to  go  to  a  young  man  like  you  for  advice." 

"You  know  that  I'm  not  old  enough  to  be  made  a 
member  of  the  Parish  Council  or  the  District  Council" 

"But  one  can  be  a  leader  without  holding  public 
office." 

"Yes,  indeed  one  can." 

"I  have  ceased  to  care  about  such  things,"  Karin  told 
herself,  but  all  the  same  she  could  not  help  feeling  pleased 
that  the  old  family  power  and  influence  had  passed  on  to 
Ingmar.  "I  might  have  known  that  people  would 
understand  you  did  right  to  take  over  the  farm." 

Ingmar  looked  sharply  at  Karin.  He  divined  what 
lay  back  of  her  remarks.  She  was  afraid  that  he  had 
been  held  up  to  contempt  by  the  parish  for  jilting  Ger 
trude.  "God  has  not  punished  me  in  that  way,"  he 
said. 

"Then  he  has  passed  through  some  other  trying  ex 
perience,"  she  thought.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to  call 
to  mind  the  hopes  and  desires  she  had  cherished  in  the 
old  days.  "I  wonder  if  there  are  any  in  the  parish 
now  who  have  continued  faithful  to  our  teachings,"  she 
said. 

"One  or  two  perhaps." 

"I  had  hoped  there  might  be  others  who  would  receive 
a  call  from  God  to  join  us,"  said  Karin,  with  an  inquiring 
glance. 

"No  one  has  been  called,  so  far  as  I  know,"  Ingmar 
replied, 


184  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Yesterday,  when  I  saw  you,  I  thought  that  perhaps 
you  had  experienced  this  blessing." 

"I'm  not  here  for  any  such  reason." 

Karin  put  her  next  query  with  hesitancy,  as  if  afraid 
of  the  answer  she  might  get:  "I  suppose  no  one  at  home 
thinks  any  more  about  us  out  here  ? " 

To  which  Ingmar  replied,  with  some  embarrassment: 
"Folks  don't  grieve  as  much  for  you  now  as  they  did  in 
the  beginning." 

"Then  they  really  missed  us.  I  'thought  it  would  be 
a  relief  to  them  to  be  rid  of  us." 

"Indeed  you  were  missed!"  Ingmar  fervently  assured 
her.  "It  was  a  long  time  before  your  old  associates 
could  affiliate  with  the  newcomers  who  had  moved  into 
your  homes.  I  know  that  Beritte  Persson,  who  lived 
next  door  to  Ljung  Bjorn's  people,  used  to  steal  out 
every  night  last  winter  and  walk  round  the  house  where 
they  had  lived." 

"Then  Beritte  must  have  mourned  more  than  anyone 
else." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Ingmar,  "there  was  another  who  stole 
out  every  evening  last  autumn,  and  rowed  across  the 
stream  to  the  old  schoolhouse  to  sit  on  a  rock  by  the 
riverside  where  Gertrude  used  to  sit  and  watch  the  sun 


set." 


Karin  thought  she  knew  now  why  Ingmar  looked  so  old 
and  promptly  changed  the  subject.  "Is  your  wife  look 
ing  after  the  farm  in  your  absence?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes." 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  185 

"She  is  a  good  housewife,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes." 

Karin  sat  smoothing  the  creases  in  her  apron.  She 
remembered  having  heard  her  sisters  say  that  all  was 
not  well  between  Ingmar  and  his  wife.  "Have  you  no 
child?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  said  Ingmar. 

Karin,  at  a  loss  what  to  say  next,  went  on  smoothing 
her  apron.  She  could  not  ask  Ingmar  straight  out  why 
he  had  come. 

Then  Ingmar  himself  came  to  the  rescue.  "Barbro 
and  I  are  going  to  be  divorced,"  he  said  in  a  hard  voice. 

Karin  straightened.  All  at  once  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
still  mistress  of  Ingmar  Farm.  Her  old  feelings  and  preju 
dices  came  to  the  fore.  "God  forbid!"  she  exclaimed. 
"There  has  never  been  a  divorce  in  our  family." 

"This  matter  is  already  settled,"  said  Ingmar.  "At 
the  autumn  sessions  we  were  granted  a  separation  for  a 
year,  and  at  the  expiration  of  the  year  we  shall  apply 
for  a  full  divorce." 

"What  have  you  got  against  Barbro?"  Karin  de 
manded  to  know.  "You  could  never  find  a  more  esti 
mable  wife  or  one  so  well-to-do." 

"I  have  nothing  against  her,"  Ingmar  replied. 

"Is  it  she  who  wants  the  divorce?" 

"Yes." 

"If  you  had  treated  her  as  you  should  have  done  she 
would  not  have  wanted  a  divorce,"  said  Karin  hotly, 
gripping  the  arms  of  her  chair.  "It's  well  father  and 


i86  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Halvor  are  dead,  so  they  won't  have  to  be  dragged  into 
this!" 

"The  dead  are  better  off  than  the  living,"  sighed 
Ingmar. 

"You've  come  out  here  on  account  of  Gertrude!" 
Karin  flung  at  him. 

Ingmar  bowed  his  head  but  did  not  answer. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  feel  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"I  felt  more  ashamed  of  myself  on  the  day  of  the 
auction  at  Ingmar  Farm." 

"What  do  you  suppose  people  will  think  of  your  com 
ing  to  seek  a  new  wife  before  you  are  off  with  the  old!" 

"I  was  obliged  to  come,"  said  Ingmar  quietly,  "to 
look  after  Gertrude.  We  received  word  that  she  was 
going  out  of  her  mind." 

"There  was  no  need  of  your  troubling  yourself," 
snapped  Karin.  "The.re  are  those  here  who  take  better 
care  of  Gertrude  than  ever  you  can." 

For  a  while  neither  of  them  spoke.  Presently  Ingmar 
got  up  to  go.  "I  had  expected  a  different  outcome  from 
our  talk"  he  said  with  so  much  dignity  of  manner  that 
Karin  could  not  but  feel  a  certain  respect  for  him,  such 
as  she  had  felt  for  their  father.  "I  supposed,  of  course, 
that  you  would  want  to  help  me  right  the  great  wrong 
I  have  done  Gertrude  and  her  parents,  who  have  been 
as  a  father  and  mother  to  me." 

"You  only  make  bad  worse  by  leaving  your  lawful 
wife,"  Karin  retorted,  trying  to  liven  her  dying  wrath 
with  hot  words.  She  had  begun  to  fear  that  her 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  187 

brother  might  make  her  see  the  thing  from  his  point  of 
view. 

Ingmar,  however,  did  not  take  up  the  allusion  to  his 
wife.  He  only  said:  "I  thought  you  would  approve 
of  my  trying  to  walk  in  the  ways  of  God." 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  think  you  are  walking  in  the 
ways  of  God,  when  you  leave  wife  and  home  to  run  after 
your  old  sweetheart?" 

Ingmar  moved  slowly  toward  the  door.  He  looked 
tired  and  worn,  but  showed  no  sign  of  wrath.  Nor  did 
he  look  like  a  man  dominated  by  a  great  passion. 

"If  Halvor  were  alive,"  said  Karin,  "I  know  that  he 
would  advise  you  to  go  home  and  make  up  with  your 
wife." 

"I  have  ceased  to  act  upon  the  advice  of  men." 

Then  Karin  stood  up.  Her  wrath  kindled  afresh  at 
Ingmar's  intimation  that  he  was  acting  in  accordance 
with  the  will  of  God.  "Gertrude  doesn't  think  of  you 
now  in  the  way  that  she  thought  in  the  old  days." 

"I'm  well  aware  that  no  one  in  the  colony  thinks, 
about  marriage,"  Ingmar  replied,  "but  just  the  same 
I  mean  to  try  for  Gertrude." 

"You  need  not  concern  yourself  with  what  we  who 
belong  to  the  colony  have  promised  each  other,"  she 
retorted.  "But  perhaps  you  will  not  be  so  eager  to  press 
your  suit,  when  I  tell  you  that  Gertrude  now  cares  for 
someone  else." 

Ingmar  put  his  hand  on  the  latch. 

Karin  immediately  repented  her  words.     "Don't  mis- 


1 88  THE  HOLY  CITY 

understand  me!"  she  said.  "I  would  not  have  you  think 
that  any  of  us  love  with  an  earthly  love;  but  I'm  sure 
that  Gertrude  now  loves  the  humblest  of  the  brethren 
in  the  colony  more  than  she  does  you,  who  are  not  of 


us." 


Ingmar  drew  a  deep  breath,  then  he  quickly  opened 
the  door  and  went  out. 

Karin  sat  for  awhile  cudgelling  her  brains.  Presently 
she  arose,  smoothed  her  hair,  put  on  her  kerchief,  and 
went  to  see  Mrs.  Gordon. 

She  frankly  told  Mrs.  Gordon  why  Ingmar  had  come 
to  the  colony,  and  advised  her  to  send  him  away  at 
once  if  she  did  not  wish  to  lose  one  of  the  sisters.  While 
Karin  was  speaking  Mrs.  Gordon  gazed  out  of  the 
window  upon  the  courtyard,  where  Ingmar  Ingmarsson, 
looking  more  gawky  and  helpless  than  usual,  stood 
leaning  against  the  wall.  A  faint  smile  flitted  across 
Mrs.  Gordon's  face,  as  she  replied  that  she  could  not 
think  of  turning  anyone  out  of  the  colony,  least  of  all 
one  who  had  come  from  such  a  far-distant  land  and  had 
so  many  near  relatives  among  the  colonists.  "If  God 
wills  that  Gertrude  shall  be  tried,  we  must  help  her  to 
stand  firm  in  the  Faith." 

This  was  a  surprise  to  Karin.  In  her  eagerness  she 
went  close  to  Mrs.  Gordon  and  near  enough  to  the  window 
to  see  at  what  she  smiled.  Karin,  for  her  part,  only 
saw  how  like  his  father  Ingmar  had  grown  and,  indig 
nant  as  she  was  at  her  brother,  it  provoked  her  to  think 
Mrs.  Gordon  apparently  did  not  perceive  that  he  who 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  189 

looked  thus  was   a  man   among  men — wiser  and   more 
capable  than  most  of  them. 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  to  let  him  stay,"  said  Karin, 
"for  he'll  manage  to  have  his  own  way  in  any  case." 

In  the  evening  of  that  day  most  of  the  colonists  were 
gathered  together  in  the  large  drawing-room,  where 
they  were  having  a  pleasant  and  sociable  time.  Some 
sat  watching  the  children  at  play;  others  were  discussing 
the  day's  happenings;  and  a  little  group  over  in  a  corner 
sat  reading  American  magazines.  When  Ingmar  Ing- 
marsson  came  into  the  large,  well-lighted  room  and  saw 
all  these  happy  and  contented  people  he  could  not  help 
thinking  to  himself:  "Evidently  our  Dalecarlian  peas 
ants  are  happy  here  and  do  not  long  for  home.  These 
Americans  understand  so  much  better  than  do  we  how 
to  make  it  pleasant  for  themselves  and  others.  It  must 
be  because  of  the  good  home  life  here  that  the  colonists 
are  able  to  meet  every  sorrow  and  privation  with  forti 
tude.  True,  some  who  once  had  homes  of  their  own 
must  now  put  up  with  a  single  room;  but,  in  return,  they 
get  more  out  of  life.  Then,  too,  they  have  seen  and 
learned  a  lot.  I  doubt  if  there's  a  child  here  that  doesn't 
know  more  than  I  do,  to  say  nothing  of  the  grown  folk." 

Some  of  the  peasants  came  up  to  Ingmar  and  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  think  they  were  very  comfortable  here. 

He  had  to  concede  that  they  were. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  we  lived  in  caves,"  sail 
Ljung  Bjorn, 


190  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Oh,  no;  I  knew  it  couldn't  be  so  bad  as  all  that." 

"We  have  been  told  a  report  to  that  effect  has  been 
spread  at  home." 

Of  course  everyone  wanted  to  know  how  things  were 
going  in  the  old  parish.  One  after  another  they  came 
and  sat  down  by  Ingmar  to  get  news  of  relatives  and 
friends,  and  nearly  all  asked  after  old  Eva  Gunnarsdotter. 
"She's  hale  and  hearty,"  said  Ingmar,  "and  talks  about 
the  Helgumists  to  every  one  she  meets." 

Ingmar  noticed  a  young  man  who  had  kept  close  to 
him  the  whole  evening,  but  had  not  spoken.  "I  wonder 
who  he  is?  Why,  he  looks  as  if  he'd  like  to  throw 
me  out  of  the  room."  Then,  it  dawned  on  him  that  the 
man  was  his  cousin  Bo,  who  had  been  in  America  several 
years. 

Ingmar  immediately  went  up  to  Bo  and  gave  him 
greetings  from  home.  When  Bo  had  asked  about  his 
own 'people,  he  wanted  to  know  how  the  schoolmaster 
was.  This  produced  a  marked  silence  in  the  circle 
around  Ingmar.  Until  then  no  one  had  dared  to  men 
tion  the  schoolmaster.  One  or  two  of  the  men  nudged 
Bo.  Ingmar  quietly  informed  him  that  all  was  well  with 
Storm  and  that  he  had  decided  to  retire  at  the  end  of 
the  school  year.  Then  he  added:  "I'm  glad  you  in 
quired  so  kindly  about  Storm,  though  he  was  rather 
rough  on  you  at  school." 

Remembering  how  often  Storm  had  bemoaned  Bo's 
stupidity  they  all  chuckled.  Bo  turned  on  his  heel  and 
walked  away. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  191 

Old  Corporal  Felt  had  gathered  some  of  the  children 
round  him,  and  was  telling  them  stories.  Ingmar, 
who  had  not  seen  Felt  since  the  latter  had  turned  child- 
lover,  was  surprised  at  the  change  in  him,  and  went  over 
to  the  old  man,  to  hear  what  he  was  telling  the  young 
sters. 

Just  then  he  was  relating  how  one  night,  when  he 
was  a  lad,  he  had  pounded  on  the  door  of  the  church 
and  called  to  the  dead  to  come  forth. 

Martha  Ingmarsson,  who  stood  near,  glanced  at  the 
children  sitting  around  Felt,  and  noticed  that  they  were 
pale  from  fright.  "You  mustn't  tell  them  ghost-stories," 
she  said  sternly,  "but  give  them  something  helpful  and 


instructive." 


The  old  man  thought  a  moment,  whereupon  he  said: 
"I'll  tell  them  a  story  my  mother  once  told  me  when  she 
was  trying  to  teach  me  to  be  kind  to  animals." 

"Yes,  do!"  said  Martha  Ingmarsson  as  she  walked 
away.  Ingmar  remained  to  listen.  "At  home  in  Dale- 
carlia,"  began  the  old  corporal,  "there  is  a  place  called 
Sorrow  Hill,  and  it  has  got  that  name  because  a  very 
bad  and  cruel  man  once  lived  there." 

Ingmar  moved  a  step  or  two  nearer,  so  as  not  to  miss  a 
word.  "The  man  was  a  horse  dealer,"  Felt  continued, 
"who  went  about  from  fair  to  fair,  trading  horses.  He 
treated  the  animals  shamefully.  Sometimes  he  would 
paint  a  white  spot  on  the  forehead  of  a  horse  which  was 
known  to  have  the  staggers,  so  that  no  one  should  recog 
nize  it;  and  sometimes  he  fed  up  old  hacks  and  made 


192  THE  HOLY  CITY 

them  look  fat  and  sleek  for  a  while — just  long  enough 
to  get  them  traded  off.  But  he  mistreated  his  horses 
worst  of  all  when  trying  them  in  the  shafts.  Then  he 
seemed  to  be  possessed,  and  would  whip  the  animals 
dreadfully.  Once  the  man  had  been  at  a  fair  a  whole 
day  without  being  able  to  make  a  deal.  It  was  partly 
due  to  his  having  fooled  people  so  often  that  they  were 
beginning  to  fight  shy  of  him,  and  partly  because  the 
horse  he  wanted  to  dispose  of  was  so  old  and  worthless 
that  no  one  would  have  it.  He  drove  the  poor  brute 
at  a  mad  gallop  up  and  down  among  the  crowds,  lashing 
it  until  the  blood  flowed  down  the  traces;  but  the  more 
he  tried  to  show  off  the  horse  the  less  grew  his  chances 
of  finding  a  purchaser. 

"Along  toward  evening  he  began  to  think  that  he 
would  do  no  business  that  day.  However,  he  decided 
to  try  his  luck  once  more  before  going  home;  so  he  drove 
his  horse  around  the  market-place  at  such  a  furious  pace 
that  everyone  thought  it  would  surely  fall  dead.  As 
he  went  tearing  along  he  caught  sight  of  a  man  driving 
a  fine  black  filly  and  who  drove  just  as  fast  as  himself, 
but  without  any  apparent  strain  upon  his  horse. 

"The  horse-dealer  had  no  sooner  stopped  and  jumped 
down  from  his  gig,  than  the  owner  of  the  black  filly  came 
up  to  him.  He  was  a  little,  spare  man  with  a  narrow 
face  and  a  pointed  beard,  and  was  dressed  entirely  in 
black.  From  the  colour  and  cut  of  his  clothes,  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  to  what  parish  he  belonged.  He  had 
a  bay  mare  at  home,  the  man  told  the  horse-dealer,  and 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  193 

wanted  to  trade  his  black  filly  for  a  brown  horse,  so  that 
he  would  have  two  of  a  kind.  'The  horse  you  are  driv 
ing,'  said  he,  'is  a  good  match  in  colour  and  I  shouldn't 
mind  having  it  if  it's  all  right  in  other  respects.  But 
you  mustn't  palm  off  a  poor  horse  upon  me,  for  there's 
nothing  in  the  world  I  know  so  little  about  as  horse 
flesh.'  It  ended,  of  course,  in  the  horse-dealer  giving 
him  his  old  hack  in  exchange  for  the  fine  black  filly. 
Never  in  his  life  had  he  laid  harness  on  a  finer  beast. 
'No  day  ever  began  so  badly  for  me  and  ended  so  well,' 
thought  he,  as  he  climbed  into  his  gig  to  drive  home 
ward. 

"It  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the  fair-grounds 
to  his  place,  and  he  got  there  before  dark.  As  he  drove 
in  through  the  gate  he  saw  a  crowd  of  fellow  horse-dealers 
from  other  parishes  standing  outside  his  house  waiting 
for  him.  They  appeared  to  be  in  a  jovial  mood  and 
when  he  came  up  they  shouted  'Hurrah'  and  laughed 
uproariously.  'What  seems  to  tickle  you  fellows?'  the 
horse-dealer  asked  them  as  he  pulled  up.  'Well,  we  were 
just  waiting  to  see  whether  that  innocent-looking  chap 
succeeded  in  palming  off  his  blind  filly  on  you,'  said 
one.  'We  met  him  as  he  drove  up  to  the  fair,  and  he 
made  a  bet  with  us  that  he  could  take  you  in.' 

"The  horse-dealer  instantly  jumped  down,  placed  him 
self  in  front  of  the  horse,  and  dealt  it  a  sharp  blow  be 
tween  the  eyes  with  the  butt  end  of  his  whip.  The 
animal  made  no  move  to  dodge  the  blow.  The  men 
were  right,  the  horse  was  blind. 


i94  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"While  his  fellow-traders  went  on  with  their  laughing 
and  jeering,  he  unharnessed  the  filly,  seized  hold  of  the 
reins,  and  drove  it  up  a  steep  hill  just  beyond  the  house 
—urging  it  on  with  curses  and  whip.  The  horse  went  at 
a  brisk  trot  to  the  very  top  of  the  hill,  when  it  suddenly 
stopped.  There  was  a  cleft  up  there,  and  below  it  was 
a  deep  and  broad  gravel-pit. 

"The  horse  must  have  felt  that  the  ground  was  under 
mined,  for  it  refused  to  budge,  although  the  man  kept 
lashing  it.  The  poor  dumb  brute,  trembling  from 
fright,  reared,  but  go  forward  it  would  not.  At  last, 
goaded  to  desperation,  it  took  a  great  leap,  as  if  jumping 
a  ditch  and  expecting  to  reach  the  other  side.  But 
there  was  no  other  side  to  be  reached.  Finding  no  foot 
hold,  it  sent  up  a  terrible  shriek;  the  next  moment  it  lay 
with  broken  neck  at  the  bottom  of  the  gravel-pit. 

"The  horse-trader  never  so  much  as  glanced  toward 
the  animal,  but  went  back  to  the  men.  'So  you're  done 
laughing,  are  you?'  he  said.  'Now  you  can  go  tell  the 
man  who  made  the  bet  with  you  what  has  happened  to 
his  filly.' 

"  But  this  is  not  the  end  of  the  story,"  said  Felt.  "Now, 
children,  pay  close  attention,  and  you  shall  hear  what 
happened  afterwards.  Some  months  later  the  man's 
wife  had  a  son,  and  that  son  was  blind  and  an  idiot. 
And  that  wasn't  all,  either,  for  every  son  born  to  the 
man  from  that  time  forth  was  a  blind  idiot.  The  daugh 
ters,  however,  were  unusually  bright  and  good  looking, 
and  all  of  them  married  well." 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  195 

Ingmar  had  been  standing  the  whole  time  spellbound. 
Now  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  tear  himself  away, 
but  as  the  old  corporal  immediately  went  on  with  the 
story,  he  stayed. 

"Nor  is  that  all!"  Felt  continued.  "When  the 
daughters  married  and  had  children,  their  sons  too  were 
blind  idiots,  while  the  daughters  were  strong,  beautiful, 
intelligent  girls.  And  thus  it  has  been  all  along,  up  to 
this  very  day;  the  sons  of  anyone  married  to  a  daughter 
of  that  family  have  been  blind  and  idiotic.  That  is  why 
people  have  named  the  place  Sorrow  Hill,  and  I  don't 
think  it  will  ever  be  known  by  any  other  name." 

When  Felt  had  finished  his  story,  Ingmar  turned 
abruptly  to  Ljung  Bjorn  and  asked  if  he  would  get  him 
pen  and  paper.  Bjorn  looked  a  little  surprised.  Ing 
mar  then  said  that  he  had  an  important  letter  to  write, 
which  he  had  forgotten  about  earlier  in  the  day,  but 
if  he  might  write  it  now  it  could  go  out  by  the  first  train 
in  the  morning.  After  getting  Ingmar  what  he  wanted, 
Ljung  Bjorn  took  him  down  to  the  carpenter-shop,  where 
no  one  was  likely  to  disturb  him.  He  then  lighted  a 
lamp  and  placed  a  chair  before  the  planing-bench.  "Here 
you  can  sit  and  write  in  peace  the  whole  night  if  you 
like,"  he  said  as  he  left. 

The  moment  Ingmar  was  alone  he  flung  out  his 
arms  as  one  does  when  one  has  a  great  longing  for  some 
one,  and  he  groaned  aloud.  "Oh,  I  can't  go  on  with 
this  that  I've  taken  upon  myself!"  he  said.  "Day  and 
night  I  think  only  of  her  I  have  left  behind  me,  and 


196  THE  HOLY  CITY 

besides,  I  don't  believe  there's  anything  I  can  do  for 
Gertrude."  He  sat  for  a  while  deep  in  thought;  then, 
smiling,  he  remarked  to  himself:  "One  who  is  full  of 
doubts  and  fears  sees  signs  and  omens  everywhere. 
But  it  does  seem  strange  that  Felt  should  have  hit  upon 
that  particular  tale.  It  was  as  if  our  Lord  wanted  to 
show  me  what  I'd  better  do."  He  took  up  his  pen.  "In 
God's  name,  then,"  he  said,  putting  the  pen  to  the  paper. 

What  Ingmar  now  wrote  had  been  in  his  mind  from 
the  time  he  left  home.  It  was  a  letter  to  the  old  pastor, 
and  every  word  set  down  had  been  pondered  and  weighed 
many,  many  times.  Though  penned  to  the  pastor,  the 
letter  was  by  no  means  intended  for  him  alone.  Ingmar 
had  never  talked  things  over  with  his  wife,  had  never  told 
her  what  he  thought  or  felt,  and  now  he  wanted  her  to 
know  what  his  real  sentiments  were.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  best  way  in  which  this  could  be  done  was  to 
write  to  their  pastor.  But  it  was  not  an  easy  task; 
a  certain  shyness  he  had  never  been  able  to  conquer  pre 
vented  him  from  talking  about  himself.  That  evening, 
however,  it  had  suddenly  been  made  clear  to  him  how  he 
should  go  about  it.  "Yes,  in  that  way  I  can  do  it,"  he 
thought;  "in  that  way  I  can  tell  the  pastor  all  he  need 
know  in  order  to  plead  my  cause  with  Barbro." 

Ingmar's  letter  ran  thus: 

"Sitting  here  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  writing  to 
Your  Reverence,  I  wish  above  everything  that  I  could 
go  up  to  the  parsonage  to  talk  with  you.  I  should  like 
to  come  late  in  the  evening,  when  you  are  in  the  quietude 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  197 

of  your  study,  thinking  out  your  sermon.  I  picture  to 
myself  that  for  a  moment  Your  Reverence  would  be 
startled  at  seeing  me,  as  if  a  spectre  had  appeared  to  you. 
4 What  are  you  doing  here?  I  thought  you  had  gone 
to  Jerusalem?'  Your  Reverence  would  surely  say.  *I 
should  have  been  there  by  this  time/  I  would  reply,  '  but 
I  turned  back  because  of  a  story  I  heard  on  the  way, 
which  I  want  to  te  1  Your  Reverence/  And  then  I  would 
ask  you  to  have  patience  with  me  for  an  hour,  while  I 
tell  a  long  story  my  heart  prompts  me  to  confide  to 
you.  And  when  I  had  your  permission  I  should  begin 
in  this  way: 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  man  in  this  parish  (I 
would  say)  who  did  not  care  for  his  wife.  The  reason 
was  this:  He  had  to  give  up  someone  of  whom  he  was 
very  fond  and  take  the  other,  in  order  to  keep  his  father's 
farm.  But  when  making  that  bargain  he  had  thought 
only  of  the  old  home  and  had  failed  to  take  into  account 
that  a  wife  went  with  the  deal.  After  they  were  mar 
ried  and  living  at  the  farm,  the  man  could  not  seem  to 
understand  that  the  wife  belonged  to  him.  He  never 
wondered  how  she  felt,  whether  she  was  happy  or  un 
happy.  Nor  did  he  notice  how  she  managed  her  home, 
whether  things  went  well  or  ill.  He  thought  so  much 
about  the  other  one  that  he  was  hardly  aware  that  this 
one  existed.  To  him  she  was  simply  a  chattel  that  went 
with  the  farm.  She  had  to  look  out  for  herself  as  best 
she  could,  for  he  wouldn't  bother  about  her. 

"But  there  was  also  a  special  reason  for  the  man's 


198  THE  HOLY  CITY 

failure  to  appreciate  his  wife;  he  despised  her  because 
she  would  have  him  when  he  was  in  love  with  another 
woman.  There  must  be  something  amiss  with  her,  he 
thought,  since  her  father  had  been  obliged  to  buy  her  a 
husband. 

"If  the  man  ever  took  any  notice  of  his  wife,  it  was 
only  to  draw  comparisons  between  her  and  the  one  he 
had  lost.  He  had  to  admit  that  his  wife  was  good-looking, 
but  of  course  she  was  not  as  beautiful  as  the  other.  Her 
step  was  not  so  light,  and  she  did  not  use  her  hands  so 
gracefully,  and  she  had  not  so  many  interesting  and 
amusing  things  to  tell.  She  went  about  her  work  quietly 
and  uncomplainingly,  which  seemed  about  all  she  was  good 
for. 

"In  justice  to  the  man,  it  must  be  said  that  he  did  not 
tell  his  wife  about  that  which  was  uppermost  in  his 
thoughts.  He  couldn't  very  well  confess  to  her  that 
he  was  always  thinking  of  the  mistress  of  his  heart,  who 
had  gone  away  to  a  strange  land.  Nor  did  he  want  her  to 
know  that  he  was  constantly  expecting  a  punishment 
from  God  because  he  had  broken  his  troth,  and  that  he 
fancied  everybody  thought  ill  of  him.  All  with  whom 
he  came  into  contact  certainly  showed  him  marked  respect, 
but  in  his  gloominess  of  mind  he  imagined  that  they 
sneered  the  instant  his  back  was  turned  and  said  he  was 
unworthy  the  name  he  bore,  and  much  else  of  the  same 
sort. 

"Now  I  will  tell  you  how  this  man  first  came  to  notice 
that  he  had  a  wife. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  199 

"When  they  had  been  married  a  couple  of  months, 
it  happened  that  the  man  and  his  wife  were  invited  to  a 
wedding  at  the  home  of  some  relatives  living  in  the  wife's 
former  parish.  They  had  a  long  journey  to  make,  and 
were  obliged  to  stop  for  an  hour  at  a  wayside  inn,  to  bait 
the  horse.  As  it  was  raining,  the  wife  went  upstairs 
and  waited  in  one  of  the  rooms.  When  the  man  had 
watered  his  horse  and  given  it  some  oats,  he  went  up 
to  the  room  where  his  wife  was.  He  did  not  speak  to 
her,  but  sat  thinking  with  dread  of  having  to  meet  a  lot 
of  people,  and  wondered  whether  the  folk  at  the  wedding 
would  let  him  see  what  they  thought  of  him.  While 
sitting  there  tormenting  himself,  he  felt  that  his  wife 
was  to  blame  for  it  all.  If  she  had  not  wanted  to  marry 
him,  he  still  would  have  been  a  man  free  from  the  fear 
of  censure,  and  not  ashamed  to  look  decent  people  in  the 
face. 

"Never  before  had  the  man  supposed  he  could  come 
to  hate  his  wife,  but  at  that  moment  he  did.  It  wasn't 
long,  however,  before  he  had  other  things  to  think 
about.  Some  men  came  into  the  next  room.  They 
had  probably  seen  the  man  and  his  wife  as  they  drove 
up,  for  they  immediately  began  to  talk  about  them.  And 
the  wall  between  was  so  thin  that  every  word  said  in 
the  one  room  could  be  heard  in  the  other. 

"I  wonder   how  those  two  get  on  together?'    said 
one. 

"'I  never  expected  that  Barbro  Svensdotter  would 
get  married,'  said  another. 


200  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"'I  remember  how  daft  she  was  about  Stig  Borjesson, 
who  worked  on  her  father's  farm  one  summer  some  three 
or  four  years  ago/ 

"When  the  wife  heard  them  speaking  about  her,  she 
said  abruptly:  'Isn't  it  time  we  were  off?'  The  husband 
preferred  to  remain  until  the  men  were  gone,  rather  than 
have  them  know  that  he  and  his  wife  had  been  sitting 
in  the  next  room. 

"The  men  in  the  outer  room  went  on  talking  about 
the  wife.  'That  Stig  Borjesson  had  not  a  penny  to  his 
name,  and  Berger  Sven  Persson  sent  him  away  as  soon  as 
he  saw  that  his  daughter  liked  the  fellow,'  said  one  who 
seemed  to  know  the  whole  story.  'Then  Barbro  became 
so  ill  from  pining  that  the  old  man  finally  relented  and 
went  with  Stig  to  the  parson,  and  asked  to  have  the 
banns  published.  But,  strange  to  say,  when  the  banns 
had  been  published  the  first  time  Stig  suddenly  changed 
his  mind,  and  said  he  didn't  want  to  marry.  Sven 
Persson,  for  his  daughter's  sake,  begged  and  implored 
Stig  not  to  forsake  her.  But  Stig  was  deaf  to  all  prayers; 
he  said  that  he  had  grown  to  hate  Barbro  and  never 
wanted  to  lay  eyes  on  her  again.  And  then  he  went 
about  telling  everyone  that  he  had  never  cared  for  Barbro, 
but  that  she  had  run  after  him.' 

"Your  Reverence  can  imagine  the  man's  feelings  on 
hearing  these  things;  he  dared  not  even  glance  at  his 
wife.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  that  having  listened  to 
all  this,  they  could  not  think  of  passing  through  the  outer 
room,  where  the  men  were. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  201 

"'That  was  a  dastardly  thing  Stig  did/  observed  an 
other;  'but  he  has  lived  to  repent  it.' 

"'So  he  has/  said  one  who  had  not  spoken  before. 
'He  went  and  married  the  first  girl  that  would  have 
him,  just  to  show  people  that  he  wasn't  thinking  of 
Barbro.  His  wife  turned  out  to  be  a  good-for-nothing, 
and  only  poverty  and  misery  came  of  that  marriage.  Now 
he  has  taken  to  drinking.  But  for  Barbro,  he  and  his 
would  be  in  the  alms-house;  it  is  she  who  keeps  both  Stig 
and  his  wife  in  food  and  clothing.' 

"After  that  nothing  more  was  said  about  Barbro.  In 
a  little  while  the  men  left.  The  husband  then  went  out 
to  harness  the  horse,  and  when  the  wife  came  down  stairs 
he  lifted  her  into  the  carriage.  She  probably  thought 
he  did  it  so  she  wouldn't  soil  her  dress  on  the  muddy 
wheel,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  wanted  to  show  that 
he  really  felt  sorry  for  her.  Of  course  he  did  not  care 
enough  about  her  to  be  made  unhappy  by  what  he  had 
heard.  As  they  drove  along,  he  turned  now  and  then 
to  look  at  her.  So  she  was  such  a  kind-hearted  soul  that 
she  could  help  the  one  who  had  forsaken  her,  he  mused. 
And  to  think  that  she  should  have  been  deceived  the 
same  as  Gertrude. 

"They  had  driven  only  a  short  distance  when  the 
man  noticed  that  his  wife  was  weeping.  '  Don't  you  cry 
about  that/  he  said,  'it  isn't  strange  that  you,  like 
myself,  should  care  for  another.'  Afterwards  he  was 
vexed  with  himself  for  not  having  said  a  kind  word  to 
her. 


202  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"One  would  suppose  that  after  all  this  he  wondered 
at  times  whether  his  wife  still  cared  for  the  other  man, 
but  such  a  thought  never  entered  his  mind.  He  didn't 
care  enough  for  her  to  wonder  who  she  did  or  did  not 
love.  He  was  completely  absorbed  by  his  own  sorrow 
ful  musings  and  as  often  as  not  forgot  that  she  existed. 
Nor  was  he  surprised  at  her  being  so  quiet  and  gentle, 
and  never  reproachful,  though  his  treatment  of  her  was 
not  what  it  should  have  been. 

"I  must  say  that  this  apparent  calmness,  which  never 
deserted  her,  finally  caused  the  man  to  think  that  she 
did  not  know  what  troubled  him.  Then  one  cold  and 
stormy  autumn  evening,  when  they  had  been  married 
about  half  a  year,  the  husband,  who  had  been  out  since 
dusk,  came  home  very  late.  In  the  big  room  where 
the  servants  slept  it  was  all  dark,  but  in  the  little  room 
adjoining  a  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth.  The  wife 
was  up  and  had  a  supper,  which  was  a  little,  better  than 
common,  ready  for  him.  When  he  came  in,  she  said: 
'  You  must  take  your  coat  off,  it's  wet.'  She  helped  him 
off  with  it,  then  held  it  to  the  fire.  'Why,  it  is  wet 
through!  I  don't  see  how  I'll  ever  get  it  dry  by  morn 
ing.  Where  have  you  been  in  such  weather?'  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  put  a  query  of  that  sort;  he 
said  nothing,  but  wondered  what  was  coming.  *  People 
are  saying  that  every  evening  you  row  down  to  the 
school-house  and  sit  on  a  stone  by  the  riverside  for 
hours.' 

"'Let  them  talk,'  the  man  replied  as  if  not  in  the  least 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  203 

concerned;  all  the  same  it  annoyed  him  to  think  that 
he  was  being  watched. 

"'But  such  things  are  not  pleasant  for  a  wife  to  hear/ 

'"A  wife  who  has  bought  a  husband  can't  expect 
much  else.' 

"The  wife  was  trying  to  turn  one  of  the  coat-sleeves 
inside  out,  which  was  something  of  a  task,  as  the  sleeve 
was  thickly  wadded  and  stiff  as  a  board.  The  husband 
looked  to  see  how  she  had  taken  his  remark.  There  was 
a  smile  on  her  lips.  When  she  had  at  last  got  the  sleeve 
turned,  she  said:  'Oh,  I  wasn't  so  very  eager  to  marry; 
it  was  father's  doing.' 

"The  man  again  glanced  at  his  wife,  and  when  his  eyes 
met  hers,  he  thought :  She  looks  as  if  she  knew  her  own 
mind.  'You  don't  appear  to  be  the  kind  that  is  easily 
coerced,'  he  said. 

"'Maybe  not,'  returned  the  wife;  'but  father  is  a 
difficult  person  to  run  counter  to.  The  fox  he  can't 
hunt  with  a  dog  he  traps.' 

"The  man  did  not  answer;  he  was  already  back  in  his 
own  thoughts,  and  hardly  heard  what  she  said.  But 
the  wife  probably  felt  that  having  begun  she  might  as  well 
continue.  'Father,  as  you  know,  has  always  loved  this 
old  place,  where  he  lived  in  his  boyhood.  He  could 
talk  of  nothing  but  the  Ingmarssons  and  the  Ingmar 
Farm,  and  I  believe  I  know  more  about  all  the  people  who 
have  lived  here  than  you  do. ' 

"The  husband,  having  finished  his  supper,  got  up  from 
the  table,  and  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  hearth, 


204  THE  HOLY  CITY 

with  his  back  to  the  fire,  so  that  he  could  see  his  wife's 
face. 

"Then  all  that  which  you  know  happened,'  said  the 
wife. 

"Never  mind  about  that,'  answered  the  man  hastily — 
remembering  with  shame  how  he  had  let  her  sit  and 
suffer  that  day  at  the  inn. 

"But  there  are  certain  things  that  you  must  be  told,' 
said  the  wife.  'After  Stig  had  thrown  me  over,  father 
was  so  afraid  that  no  one  would  have  me  that  he  set 
about  to  find  me  a  husband,  offering  me  first  to  one,  then 
to  another.  I  soon  sickened  of  the  whole  miserable  busi 
ness.  Surely  I  was  not  such  an  undesirable  person  that 
it  was  necessary  for  father  to  entreat  people  to  marry  me?' 
As  she  said  that  she  straightened  herself,  threw  the 
coat  onto  a  chair  and  looked  the  man  straight  in  the  eye. 
'How  to  put  a  stop  to  all  this  I  didn't  know,'  she  went 
on;  'then  one  day  I  happened  to  say  to  father  that  I 
would  never  marry  unless  I  could  have  Ingmar  Ingmars- 
son  of  Ingmar  Farm.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  Tims 
Halvor  then  owned  the  farm  and  that  you  were  to  marry 
the  schoolmaster's  daughter.  I  had  seized  upon  some 
thing  that  seemed  quite  impossible  merely  to  be  left  in 
peace.  Father  was  dumbfounded.  "Then  you'll  never 
be  married,"  he  said.  "In  that  case  I  shall  have  to  be 
content  with  single  blessedness,"  I  replied.  "Do  you 
mean  it  seriously?"  he  asked.  "I  do,"  said  I,  never 
dreaming  anything  would  come  of  it.  I  should  as  soon 
have  thought  of  his  marrying  me  to  the  king.  Then  for 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  205 

a  couple  of  years  he  did  not  pester  me  with  further  matri 
monial  projects.  I  was  as  contented  as  could  be.  I 
managed  father's  big  farm  and  had  things  my  own  way 
as  long  as  father  remained  a  widower.  Then  one  even 
ing  in  May  he  came  home  very  late,  and  at  once  sent  for 
me.  "Now  you  can  have  Ingmar  Ingmarsson  of  Ingmar 
Farm,"  he  said.  "I  have  bought  the  farm  for  forty 
thousand  kronor."  "But  Ingmar  is  betrothed,"  I  pro 
tested.  "He  can't  care  very  much  for  the  girl,  since  he 
wants  to  marry  you,"  was  father's  reply.' 

"Your  Reverence  can  imagine  the  husband's  chagrin 
on  hearing  this.  'What  an  extraordinary  tale!'  he 
thought.  '  It  is  just  like  a  play.  Fancy  my  having  to 
give  up  Gertrude  merely  because  Barbro  once  by  chance 
mentioned  my  name  to  her  father!' 

"'I  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do!'  said  the  wife.  'The 
thought  of  father  paying  out  all  that  money  on  my  ac 
count  grieved  me  so  that  I  couldn't  say  no  at  once.  Nor 
had  I  the  least  idea  how  you  felt  about  it — whether  or 
not  the  farm  was  more  to  you  than  anything  else.  Father 
swore  that  he  would  sell  the  farm  to  the  lumber  company 
if  I  did  not  do  as  he  wished.  At  that  time  things 
were  not  so  very  pleasant  for  me  at  home.  Father  had 
just  married  again  for  the  third  time,  and  I  didn't  care 
to  be  under  the  rule  of  a  stepmother,  when  I  myself  had 
been  the  mistress  of  the  house.  And  as  I  couldn't  decide 
then  and  there  whether  to  say  yes  or  no,  father  had  his 
way.  I  did  not  take  the  matter  seriously  enough,  you 
see.' 


206  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"'Evidently  not!'  said  the  man;  'I  suppose  that  to 
you  it  was  a  mere  pleasantry.' 

"'I  did  not  realize  what  I  had  done  until  I  heard  that 
Gertrude  had  stolen  away  from  home  and  gone  to  Jeru 
salem.  But  since  that  happened  I  have  had  no  peace 
of  mind.  I'm  not  one  who  would  wittingly  cause  an 
other  unhappiness.  And  now  that  I  see  how  miserable 
you  are,  I  feel  that  it's  all  my  fault.' 

"'Oh,  no,'  said  the  man;  'the  blame  rests  with  me 
alone,  and  I  suffer  no  more  than  I  deserve  to  suffer.' 

"'Night  after  night  I  sit  here  wondering  if  I  shall  ever 
see  you  again,'  the  wife  continued.  "  'Perhaps  it  will  end 
with  your  being  found  in  the  river,"  I  think  to  myself. 
And  then  I  seem  to  hear  people  come  bearing  you  in, 
and  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  forget  that  I  was 
the  cause  of  your  death.' 

"While  she  was  telling  of  her  fears  and  anxieties  the 
man  thought:  'Now  she  will  want  to  be  comforted  and 
helped.'  He  only  felt  annoyed  at  her  uneasiness  for  him; 
he  was  better  satisfied  when  she  kept  her  thoughts  to 
herself,  for  then  he  did  not  have  to  consider  her.  '  I  can't 
be  burdened  with  her  troubles,  too,'  he  told  himself. 

"Feeling  that  he  was  obliged  to  say  something,  he  said 
to  her:  'Don't  be  uneasy  about  me;  I'm  not  going  to 
add  a  crime  to  my  other  offences.'  And  for  just  these 
few  words  from  him  her  face  brightened." 

Here  Ingmar  rested  his  pen  and  looked  up.  "This  is 
going  to  be  a  dreadfully  long  letter,"  he  thought.  "I 
shall  have  to  sit  here  and  write  all  night."  It  was  a 


BARBRO  SVENSD01TER  207 

pleasure  to  him  thus  living  over  all  that  had  passed  be 
tween  him  and  Barbro.  He  hoped  the  pastor  would  show 
her  the  letter  and  that  she  would  be  glad  when  she  saw 
how  well  he  remembered  everything. 

Ingmar  went  on  writing: 

"For  all  the  man  imagined  he  did  not  care  in  the  least 
about  his  wife,  he  remained  at  home  the  first  few 
evenings  after  she  had  told  him  of  her  uneasiness.  The 
wife  did  not  show  that  she  knew  he  stayed  at  home  on 
her  account.  She  seemed  as  quiet  and  placid  as  usual. 
But,  as  Your  Reverence  knows,  she,  Barbro,  had  always 
been  very  kind  to  all  the  old  servants  at  Ingmar  Farm, 
and  they  were  devoted  to  her.  As  the  master  sat 
with  his  household  by  the  open  fire  in  the  living-room 
old  Lisa  and  old  Bengt  sat  smiling  and  nodding  to  each 
other. 

"For  two  whole  evenings  the  man  stayed  in,  but  the 
third,  which  happened  to  be  Sunday  evening,  the  wife, 
to  while  away  the  time,  brought  out  her  guitar  and  sang. 
All  went  well  until  she  started  a  tune  that  Gertrude  loved 
to  hum.  Then  the  man  took  up  his  hat  and  left  the 
house. 

"It  was  pitch-dark  outside  and  a  cold,  fine  rain  was 
falling.  Getting  into  his  boat,  he  rowed  down  to  the 
school-house  and  seated  himself  on  a  stone  by  the  river 
side  to  dream  of  Gertrude  and  the  days  when  he  was  a 
man  of  his  word.  It  was  long  past  midnight  when  he 
returned.  He  found  his  wife  sitting  by  the  river  wait 
ing  for  him. 


208  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"This  irritated  the  man.  Your  Reverence  knows  how 
men  dislike  having  their  womenfolk  worry  about  them. 
However,  he  said  nothing  to  the  wife  until  they  were  in 
their  room.  'You  must  let  me  come  and  go  as  I  please,' 
he  then  told  her.  She  made  no  reply,  but  quickly  struck 
a  match  and  lighted  a  candle.  The  man  noticed  that 
her  dress  was  rain  soaked  and  clung  to  her  figure.  Wet 
as  she  was,  she  went  to  the  kitchen  and  fetched  him 
something  to  eat,  made  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  turned 
down  the  beds  for  the  night.  But  she  showed  no  feeling 
of  either  anger  or  resentment.  He  wondered  if  she 
was  really  so  meek  that  nothing  could  vex  her.  Sud 
denly  he  turned  to  her  and  said:  'If  I  had  treated  you 
as  I  did  Gertrude,  would  you  have  forgiven  me  ? ' 

"She  looked  hard  at  him  for  a  moment.  'No!'  she 
said,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"The  man  wondered  why  she  wouldn't  forgive  him 
when  she  had  forgiven  that  fellow  Stig.  Did  she  think 
that  he  had  done  a  worse  thing  than  Stig  in  giving  up 
Gertrude  for  material  gain? 

"A  day  or  so  later  the. man,  trying  to  find  a  screw 
driver  he  had  mislaid,  went  to  the  wash-house  to  look  for  it. 
As  he  stepped  into  the  little  chamber  at  the  back  where 
old  Lisa  lay  ill  he  found  his  wife  sitting  by  her  bedside 
reading  aloud  from  the  Bible.  It  was  a  huge  old  Bible 
with  a  thick  leather  binding  and  heavy  brass  mountings. 
The  man  stood  for  a  moment  regarding  it.  Barbro 
must  have  brought  that  from  her  home,  he  thought, 
and  turned  to  go.  In  a  moment  he  wheeled  round,  took 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  209 

the  Bible  away  from  his  wife  and  opened  it  to  the  front 
leaf.  He  found  that  it  was  an  old  Bible  that  had  been 
in  his  family  for  generations  and  which  Karin  had  dis 
posed  of  at  the  auction.  ' Where  did  this  come  from?' 
he  asked. 

"The  wife  said  nothing,  but  old  Lisa  answered:  'Hasn't 
Barbro  told  you  that  she  bought  back  this  Bible?' 

"'No,'  said  the  man;  'has  Barbro  done  that?' 

"'She  has  done  more  than  that,'  added  the  old  woman 
eagerly.  'Just  take  a  peep  into  the  blue  cupboard  in 
the  living-room,  and  you'll  see.' 

"The  man  went  straight  to  the  house  and  into  the  big 
room.  On  opening  the  cupboard,  he  found  two  of  the 
old  silver  beakers  on  the  shelf.  He  took  them  down, 
examined  the  marks  on  the  bottom,  and  knew  them  for 
the  Ingmarssons'.  While  he  stood  there  Barbro  came  in. 
She  looked  embarrassed. 

"'I  happened  to  have  a  little  money  in  the  savings- 
bank,'  she  said  softly. 

"The  man  was  more  pleased  than  he  had  been  in  many 
a  long  day.  He  went  up  to  his  wife  and  took  her  by  the 
hand.  'Thank  you  for  this,'  he  said.  But  almost 
immediately  he  let  her  hand  drop  and  walked  out  of  the 
house.  Somehow  he  felt  it  would  not  be  right  for  him 
to  be  tender  to  his  wife;  that  he  owed  it  to  Gertrude 
not  to  show  any  love  or  kindness  to  the  one  who  had 
taken  her  place. 

"Some  days  later,  as  the  man  came  out  from  the  barn 
to  go  to  the  house,  a  stranger  entered  the  yard.  After 


210  THE  HOLY  CITY 

saluting,   he   asked    if  Barbro  was    at   home.     'I'm    an 
old  friend  of  hers,'  he  said. 

"Singularly  enough,  the  man  at  once  knew  who  it  was. 
'Then  you  are  Stig  Borjesson,'  he  said. 

"I  didn't  suppose  anyone  here  would  know  me,*  re 
plied  the  fellow.  'I'm  going  away  again  directly.  I 
only  want  to  have  a  word  with  Barbro;  but  don't  go 
tell  Ingmar  Ingmarsson  that  I've  been  here.  He  might 
not  like  my  coming.' 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  Ingmar  has  no  objection  to  meeting 
you,'  said  the  man;  'he  has  long  been  curious  to  see 
how  a  cur  like  you  looks.'  His  wrath  rose  at  the  thought 
of  that  miserable  wretch  still  going  about  pretending 
that  Barbro  Svensdotter  was  in  love  with  him. 

"No  man  has  ever  called  me  a  cur  before,  that  I  know 
of,'  Stig  muttered. 

'"If  no  one  has  done  so  before,  then  I  do  so  now,' 
returned  the  man,  giving  him  a  box  on  the  ear. 

"The  fellow  drew  back,  his  face  livid  with  rage. 
'None  of  that!'  he  said.  'You  don't  know  what  you  are 
doing.  I  only  want  to  borrow  some  money  from  Barbro, 
that's  all.' 

"The  man  now  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  his  rashness;  he 
couldn't  understand  what  had  made  him  flare  up  like 
that.  But  he  did  not  care  to  let  the  fellow  see  that  he 
regretted  his  haste;  so  he  said  in  a  harsh  voice:  'Don't 
imagine  that  I  believe  Barbro  is  in  love  with  you;  but  I 
think  you  deserve  to  have  your  ears  boxed  for  your  con 
temptible  treatment  of  her.' 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  211 

"Stig  Borjesson  then  went  close  up  to  the  man.  'Now 
Pll  tell  you  something  in  return  for  your  striking 
me.'  His  voice  sounded  hoarse  and  threatening.  'What 
you  are  going  to  hear  will  probably  hurt  harder  than 
any  thrashing.  As  you  seem  to  care  such  a  lot  about 
your  Barbro,  let  me  tell  you  that  she  comes  of  that  horse- 
dealer's  family  at  Sorrow  Hill/ 

"He  waited  to  see  what  effect  this  would  have  upon 
the  man.  The  latter  only  looked  a  little  surprised.  At 
first  he  could  not  call  to  mind  what  there  was  strange  about 
Sorrow  Hill,  and  then  he  remembered  the  story  he  had 
heard  as  a  child,  and  which  I  daresay  Your  Reverence 
has  also  heard — that  all  the  sons  born  of  those  who  were 
descended  from  the  Sorrow  Hill  people  were  blind  and 
idiotic,  while  the  daughters  were  more  intelligent  and 
beautiful  than  other  girls.  But  the  man  had  never  be 
lieved  there  was  any  truth  in  this  old  tale;  he  just 
laughed  at  the  fellow. 

'You  don't  believe  that  story,  eh?'  said  Stig,  com 
ing  still  closer;  'but  what  if  I  should  tell  you  that  Sven 
Persson's  second  wife  came  of  that  family?  The  Sorrow 
Hill  people  all  removed  to  another  part  of  the  country, 
where  nobody  knows  about  them.  But  my  mother  kept 
track  of  them.  Yet  she  held  her  tongue,  and  didn't  tell 
a  soul  who  Sven  Persson  had  got  for  a  wife  till  I  wanted 
to  marry  Barbro.  After  hearing  that  I  couldn't  think  of 
marrying  her;  but,  being  an  honorable  man,  I  said  noth 
ing  about  it.  Had  I  been  the  cur  you  take  me  for,  I 
should  have  told  everyone  what  I  knew.  For  this  I  have 


212  THE  HOLY  CITY 

borne  all  kinds  of  insults  in  silence,  until  you  struck  me. 
Probably  Sven  Persson  himself  never  knew  of  the  blight 
upon  his  wife,  for  she  died  soon  after  the  birth  of  their 
only  child,  Barbro.  And  the  daughters  of  the  Sorrow 
Hill  folk  are  fine  girls,  you  know;  it's  only  the  sons  that 
are  blind  and  idiotic.  Now  you've  made  your  bed,  so 
you'll  have  to  lie  on  it.  I've  laughed  to  myself  many  a 
time,  thinking  of  how  you  threw  over  your  old  sweet 
heart,  and  of  the  Ingmar  Ingmarsson  who  will  succeed 
you  as  master  of  the  farm.  I  hope  you'll  have  many 
happy  days  with  your  wife  after  this!' 

"While  Stig  stood  hissing  all  this  into  his  face,  the 
husband  happened  to  glance  toward  the  house,  and 
seeing  a  corner  of  a  skirt  sticking  out  from  behind  the 
door,  he  guessed  that  Barbro  had  seen  the  meeting 
between  him  and  Stig  and  had  overheard  every 
thing.  Then  the  man  grew  concerned.  It  was  most 
unfortunate  that  Barbro  should  have  heard  this,  he 
thought.  Could  it  be  that  the  thing  he  had  feared  so 
long  had  come  at  last?  Was  this  the  expected  punish 
ment  from  God  ? 

"Then  for  the  first  time  it  was  borne  in  upon  the  man 
that  he  actually  had  a  wife,  whom  it  was  his  duty  to 
protect.  He  pretended  to  think  light  of  Stig's  revela 
tions,  and  said  with  a  forced  laugh:  'Do  you  suppose 
I'm  such  a  fool  as  you've  been,  and  would  let  an  old 
wives'  tale  wreck  my  happiness?' 

"'Well,  I've  said  enough  for  to-day,'  returned  Stig.  'In 
a  year's  time  perhaps  you'll  think  differently/ 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  213 

"' Aren't  you  coming  in  to  speak  to  Barbro?'  the  hus 
band  asked,  seeing  that  the  fellow  was  about  to  go. 

"'No,  I've  changed  my  mind/  Stig  replied. 

"When  he  had  gone  the  man  went  into  the  house  to 
have  a  talk  with  his  wife,  but  before  he  could  speak  she 
said  quietly:  'We  don't  believe  such  silly  nursery-tales, 
do  we,  Ingmar?  Why  should  we  be  made  to  suffer  for 
something  that  happened  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  if  it  ever  did  happen?' 

'"Oh,  then  you  know  the  story,'  said  the  man,  not 
wanting  her  to  think  that  he  had  seen  her  standing  at 
the  door  listening. 

"'Why,  of  course  I  have  heard  that  old  story.  Who 
hasn't?  But  until  to-day  I  never  knew  that  it  had 
anything  to  do  with  me.' 

'"It  was  a  pity  you  heard  it,'  said  the  man,  'but  it 
doesn't  matter  so  long  as  you  don't  believe  in  it. ' 

"The  wife  smiled.  'I  don't  feel  as  if  a  curse  were 
hanging  over  me,'  she  told  him.  The  man  thought  that 
never  had  he  seen  a  finer  looking  woman  than  his  wife. 
'Anyone  can  see  that  you  are  sound  in  both  body  and 
mind,'  he  said. 

"Late  in  the  spring  a  child  was  born  to  them;  it  was 
a  boy.  The  wife  had  been  brave  during  the  long  months 
of  waiting,  and  had  never  manifested  the  least  sign  of 
anxiety.  The  husband  thought  she  had  entirely  for 
gotten  all  that  Stig  had  said.  As  for  himself,  he  had 
thought  less  about  his  own  sorrow  after  that  talk  with 
Stig.  He  felt  that  he  must  behave  so  that  his  wife 


2i4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

would  see  that  he  did  not  believe  in  the  curse  which 
was  supposed  to  rest  upon  her.  He  tried  to  show  a  happy 
face  when  at  home,  and  not  go  about  the  house  looking 
as  if  he  were  expecting  the  wrath  of  God  to  fall  upon  him. 
He  began  to  take  an  interest  in  his  property,  and  was 
helpful  to  people,  as  his  father  before  him  had  been.  'It 
won't  do  for  me  to  go  around  looking  woebegone  any 
longer/  thought  the  man,  'Barbro  might  think  I  believe 
in  that  mythical  curse  and  am  miserable  on  that  account/ 

"When  the  child  came  the  wife  was  very  happy.  It 
was  a  fine  baby  with  a  broad,  high  forehead  and 
large,  clear  eyes.  She  called  her  husband  in  again  and 
again,  to  have  him  look  at  the  child.  'He's  all  right/ 
said  the  mother,  'there  is  nothing  amiss  with  him.'  The 
man  felt  awkward.  He  put  his  hands  behind  him,  not 
daring  to  touch  the  babe.  'Now,  I'll  prove  to  you  that 
there's  nothing  wrong  with  his  eyes.'  She  lighted  a  candle 
and  passed  it  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  infant.  'Don't 
you  see  how  his  eyes  follow  the  light  ? ' 

"It  was  some  days  after,  the  wife  was  up  and  her 
father  and  step-mother  had  come  to  see  the  child.  The 
stepmother  took  the  infant  out  of  its  cradle  and  weighed 
it,  so  to  speak,  in  her  arms.  'My,  but  he's  a  big  boy!' 
she  said,  looking  pleased.  Then  she  noticed  the  child's 
head  and  remarked  that  it  was  uncommonly  large. 

"'The  children  in  our  family  all  have  big  heads/  said 
the  man. 

"'Is  it  a  healthy  infant?'  the  stepmother  asked,  as 
she  put  the  child  back  into  its  crib. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  215 

'Yes,  indeed,'  said  the  wife;  'and  he  grows  bigger 
every  day.' 

"'Are  you  quite  sure  that  the  child  can  see?'  asked 
the  stepmother  presently;  'for  it  turns  its  eyes  in  a  way 
that  shows  too  much  white.' 

"The  wife  began  to  tremble,  and  her  lips  quivered. 

"If  you'd  like  to  prove  it  with  the  candle-test,'  said 
the  man,  'you'll  find  that  the  child's  sight  is  perfect.' 

"The  wife  hastily  lighted  a  candle,  and  held  it  before 
the  baby's  eyes.  'Of  course  he  can  see,'  she  said,  trying 
to  appear  hopeful  and  happy.  The  child  lay  quite  still, 
the  whites  of  its  eyes  showing.  'Look  how  he  turns  his 
eyes  to  the  light.'  None  of  the  others  said  anything. 
'Don't  you  see  that  he  moves  them?'  she  said  to  the 
stepmother,  but  the  latter  made  no  reply.  'He's  sleepy 
now,  his  eyes  are  closing.' 

"In  a  while  the  stepmother  asked  what  they  were 
going  to  call  him? 

"In  this  house  the  eldest  son  has  always  been  called 
Ingmar,'  the  man  informed  her. 

"I  had  thought  of  asking  you  to  let  him  be  called  Sven, 
after  my  father,'  the  wife  put  in. 

"An  awkward  silence  followed.  The  man  observed 
that  the  wife  was  watching  him  attentively,  although  she 
appeared  to  be  looking  down  at  the  floor.  'Your  father, 
Sven  Persson,  is  a  clever  man,'  he  said,  'but  our  son  will 
have  to  be  named  Ingmar.' 

"One  night,  when  the  child  was  about  a  week  old, 
it  was  taken  with  convulsions,  and  died  before  morning. 


2i6  THE  HOLY  CITY 

The  terrible  part  of  it  was  that  we  never  knew  whether 
the  child  was  normal  or  a  defective." 

Ingmar  paused  in  his  writing,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  then  long  past  midnight. 

"I'll  have  to  hurry  or  it  will  be  morning  before  I'm 
finished  with  this  letter,"  he  remarked  to  himself. 

Then  he  wrote  on : 

"I  want  Your  Reverence  to  know  that  of  late  the  man 
has  been  kind  to  his  wife,  and  at  times  he  has  shown  her 
such  little  attentions  as  are  common  among  young  mar 
ried  folk.  But  all  the  while  he  thought  of  Gertrude  as 
his  only  love,  and  said  to  himself:  'Of  course  I  couldn't 
love  Barbro,  but  I  must  be  kind  to  her  because  her  lot 
in  life  is  such  a  sad  one.  I  can't  have  her  feel  as  if  she 
were  all  alone  in  the  world,  when  she  has  a  husband  to 
protect  her.' 

"Barbro  did  not  grieve  long  for  the  child;  in  a  fort 
night  she  seemed  quite  reconciled  to  her  loss. 

"When  summer  came  Barbro  went  up  to  the  sdter 
and  her  husband  remained  at  home.  And  now,  when 
he  entered  the  house,  a  strange  feeling  came  over  him; 
he  wandered  from  room  to  room  looking  for  Barbro, 
and  at  times  he  would  find  himself  listening  for  her  voice. 
The  home  atmosphere  was  gone  from  the  house;  it  did 
not  seem  like  the  same  place. 

"One  Saturday  evening  he  went  up  to  the  sdter  to  see 
his  wife.  He  found  her  sitting  outside  the  cabin,  her 
hands  resting  in  her  lap.  Although  she  saw  her  husband 
coming  she  did  not  rise  to  meet  him. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  217 

'"Barbro,  a  wonderful  change  has  come  over  me/ 
he  said,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"'Yes?'   she  returned,  indifferently. 

"'I'm  beginning  to  love  you,  Barbro/  he  told  her. 

"She  looked  at  him  wearily.  'It  is  too  late  now/  she 
said. 

"It  frightened  him  to  see  her  like  that.  'I  don't  think 
it's  well  for  you  to  be  all  alone  up  here  in  this  wilder 
ness.' 

"I'm  quite  comfortable/  she  replied,  'and  wouldn't 
mind  staying  here  all  the  time.' 

"The  man  again  tried  to  tell  her  that  he  now  loved 
her  and  had  no  thoughts  for  any  other,  that  he  did  not 
know  how  much  she  meant  to  him  until  she  was  gone 
from  the  home. 

'You  should  have  said  all  that  to  me  last  autumn.' 

"My  God!'  he  cried,  'don't  tell  me  it's  all  over  be 
tween  us!' 

"Oh,  no/  she  answered,  'it  hasn't  come  to  that  yet.' 

"One  day,  toward  the  end  of  the  summer,  the  man 
again  went  up  to  the  sdter.  'I  have  sad  news  for  you/ 
he  said  to  the  wife. 

"'What  has  happened?'  she  asked. 

'"Your  father  is  dead.' 

"That  is  well  for  both  you  and  me.'  Barbro  sat 
down  on  a  stone  by  the  roadside  and  motioned  to  her 
husband  to  come  sit  beside  her.  'Now  that  we  are 
free  and  can  do  as  we  like,  we  are  going  to  part.'  He 
wanted  to  stop  her,  but  she  wouldn't  let  him  say  a  word. 


2i8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

'So  long  as  father  lived  this  thing  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  but  now  we  must  apply  for  a  divorce  at  once — that 
you  understand  of  course.' 

'"No,  I  understand  nothing  of  the  kind/  replied  the 
man. 

"'You  saw  what  sort  of  a  child  I  bore  you.' 

'"It  was  a  beautiful  child/  said  he. 

"'It  was  blind/  she  declared,  'and  had  it  lived  it  would 
have  been  an  imbecile.' 

'"It  doesn't  matter  what  the  child  was,  I  want  you.' 

"Barbro  clasped  her  hands,  and  her  lips  moved,  as 
if  in  prayer. 

"'Are  you  thanking  God  for  that?'   he  asked  her. 

'"All  the  summer  I  have  been  praying  for  deliverance/ 
she  said. 

"'In  God's  name,  am  I  to  sacrifice  my  happiness  just 
for  an  old  myth?' 

"'It  is  no  myth/  said  Barbro;  'the  child  was  actually 
blind/ 

'"How  do  you  know?'  he  said.  'Had  the  child 
lived,  I'm  sure  you  would  have  found  that  its  eyes  were 
all  right/ 

'"In  any  case,  my  next  child  would  be  an  idiot;  for 
now  I  believe  in  that  myth,  as  you  call  it/ 

"The  man  tried  to  reason  with  her.  'But  it  isn't 
simply  on  account  of  the  child  I  wish  a  separation/  she 
told  him.  'I  want  you  to  go  to  Jerusalem  and  bring 
Gertrude  back/ 

"'Never  in  the  world!'  he  exclaimed. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  219 

must  do  it  for  my  sake,'  she  pleaded,  'that  I 
may  again  have  peace  of  mind/  The  man  protested 
that  what  she  asked  of  him  was  preposterous.  'But 
youVe  got  to  do  it  because  it  is  right  that  you  should,' 
said  she.  'Can't  you  see  that  if  we  go  on  living  as  hus 
band  and  wife  God  will  continue  to  punish  us?'  She 
knew  that  he  must  at  length  give  in  for  conscience  sake. 
'  Be  glad  you  can  now  right  the  wrong  you  did  a  year  ago. 
Otherwise  you  would  grieve  about  it  all  your  life.'  As 
he  continued  to  protest,  she  said:  'Don't  be  anxious 
about  the  farm;  you  can  buy  it  from  me  when  you 
come  back,  and  while  you  are  away  in  Jerusalem  I'll 
look  after  it  for  you. ' 

"Then  they  went  back  to  the  farm  to  arrange  for  the 
separation.  Things  were  more  difficult  for  him  now 
than  ever.  It  was  as  if  Barbro  were  pleased  at  the 
thought  of  his  going.  She  seemed  to  take  keen  delight 
in  planning  his  and  Gertrude's  future,  and  pictured  for 
him  how  happy  Gertrude  would  be  when  he  came  to 
fetch  her.  Once,  when  she  had  gone  on  in  this  strain 
for  a  long  while,  he  began  to  think  that  she  must  dislike 
him  or  she  wouldn't  talk  so  much  about  bringing  him 
and  Gertrude  together.  Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  brought  his  clenched  hand  down  upon  the  table. 
Til  go!'  he  shouted.  'But  for  God's  sake  say  no  more!' 
c<Then  all  will  come  right,'  she  said  with  a  smile. 
'Mind,  Ingmar,  I  shall  never  know  a  moment's  happiness 
until  you  have  made  up  with  Gertrude!' 

"So   they   went    through    with    the   whole    miserable 


220  THE  HOLY  CITY 

business;  they  were  admonished  by  the  pastor,  and 
admonished  by  the  church  wardens,  but  at  the  Fall 
Sessions  they  were  duly  separated." 

Ingmar  laid  down  his  pen.  He  had  told  the  pastor 
everything;  now  he  had  only  to  add  that  he  wanted 
him  to  talk  with  Barbro,  and,  above  all,  urge  her  not 
to  insist  upon  his  marrying  Gertrude.  Of  course  the 
pastor  would  understand  that  that  was  impossible.  To 
go  to  Gertrude  now  and  offer  her  a  spurious  love  was 
but  to  deceive  her  a  second  time. 

As  that  thought  came  to  Ingmar,  his  eye  fell  upon 
some  words  he  had  just  written.  "You  must  do  it  for 
my  sake,  that  I  may  again  have  peace  of  mind."  He 
seemed  to  be  back  at  the  sdter,  listening  to  Barbro.  "  Be 
glad  you  can  now  right  the  wrong  you  did  a  year  ago," 
he  seemed  to  hear  her  say,  and  everything  else  she  had 
said  to  him  that  time.  "How  can  I  think  what  she  asks 
of  me  hard!"  he  mused.  "It  is  little  enough  compared 
to  what  she  has  to  bear."  Suddenly  it  came  over  him 
that  this  letter  must  never  get  into  Barbro's  hands. 
"She  mustn't  know  that  this  thing  is  hateful  to  me.  I 
can't  beg  her  thus  pitifully  to  let  me  escape  all  punish 
ment  and  penance.  She  never  wavered  for  a  second 
when  a  way  was  open  to  her  to  follow  her  own  convic 
tions,  while  I  had  to  be  made  to  see  what  was  right." 

Ingmar  gathered  up  the  written  pages  and  put  them 
in  his  pocket.  "There's  no  need  of  my  finishing  this 
letter,"  he  said. 


BARBRO  SVENSDOTTER  221 

He  turned  down  the  lamp  and  left  the  workshop. 
Though  just  as  dejected  and  unhappy  as  before,  he  de 
cided  to  do  as  his  wife  wished.  Coming  out,  he  found 
a  little  back  gate  standing  open.  It  was  already  day 
light.  He  stood  drinking  in  the  fresh  air.  "It  isn't 
worth  while  going  to  bed,"  he  thought.  The  sun  now 
came  rolling  up  from  behind  the  hills,  shedding  a  red 
dish  glow  over  the  rocks,  and  every  second  the  land 
scape  changed  colour. 

Presently  Ingmar  saw  Gertrude  coming  down  the 
slope  below  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  sunbeams 
enveloped  her  in  a  golden  mist.  She  looked  radiant. 
It  seemed  to  Ingmar  as  if  the  radiance  emanated  from 
herself.  A  tall  man  followed  her  at  some  distance;  now 
and  then  he  stopped  and  glanced  round.  It  was  plain 
he  was  guarding  her. 

Ingmar  was  not  long  recognizing  the  man.  Then 
some  things  that  had  puzzled  him  the  previous  evening 
became  clear.  At  that,  his  heart  bounded  with  joy. 
"God  is  helping  me,"  he  said. 


THE  DERVISH 


THE  DERVISH 

ONE  EVENING  before  dusk  Gertrude  was  pass 
ing  through  a  street  in  Jerusalem.  Just  in 
front  of  her  walked  a  tall,  spare  man  in  a  black 
flowing  robe.  She  noticed  that  there  was  something 
unusual  about  the  man,  but  what  it  was  she  could  not 
quite  make  out.  It  was  not  his  green  turban,  she  thought, 
for  men  wearing  that  kind  of  headgear  were  to  be  seen 
every  day  in  the  streets  of  the  Holy  City.  More  likely 
it  was  because  his  head  was  unshaven  and  his  hair  was 
not  drawn  up  under  his  turban,  as  is  the  custom  among 
men  of  the  East,  but  hung  down  upon  his  shoulders  in 
long,  even  locks. 

Gertrude,  following  the  man,  could  not  take  her  eyes 
from  him;  she  wished  he  would  turn  round  so  that  she 
could  see  his  face.  Just  then  a  youth,  in  passing,  saluted 
him  with  a  reverent  bow,  and  kissed  his  hand.  The 
man  in  the  black  robe  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and 
glanced  back  at  the  youth  who  had  greeted  him  so  rever 
ently;  thus  Gertrude's  wish  was  gratified. 

She  stopped  in  breathless  wonder  and  joy,  and  put 
her  hand  to  her  heart.  "It  is  the  Christ!"  she  thought. 
"It  is  the  One  who  appeared  to  me  at  the  brook  in  the 
forest." 

The  man  continued  on  his  way,  now  turning  into  a 

225 


226  THE  HOLY  CITY 

crowded  side  street,  where  Gertrude  soon  lost  sight  of 
him. 

She  then  took  the  road  back  to  the  colony,  walking  very 
slowly.  Time  after  time  she  would  stop,  lean  against 
a  house-wall,  and  close  her  eyes.  "If  I  could  only  keep 
this  in  my  memory !"  she  murmured,  "if  I  could  only 
see  his  face  before  me  always!" 

She  strove  to  imprint  indelibly  upon  her  memory  every 
feature  of  the  man's  countenance.  He  had  an  oval 
face,  his  nose  was  long  and  straight,  his  forehead  was 
broad,  but  not  very  high,  his  beard  was  dark,  and  cleft, 
and  rather  short.  "He  was  exactly  like  the  Christ  as 
I  have  seen  Him  pictured,  and  looked  the  same  as 
when  I  saw  Him  in  the  forest,  only  now  He  was  even  more 
beautiful  and  radiant.  There  was  a  wonderful  light 
in  His  eyes,  and  great  power.  All  things  were  centred 
in  His  eyes — love  and  wisdom,  sorrow  and  compassion, 
and  more  besides.  It  seemed  as  if  those  eyes  could 
look  right  into  Heaven,  and  see  God  and  the  angels." 

All  the  way  home  Gertrude  was  in  ecstasy.  Since 
the  day  the  Christ  had  appeared  to  her  in  the  wood  she 
had  never  been  so  blissfully  happy.  She  walked  with 
hands  clasped  and  eyes  turned  heavenward,  as  if  she 
were  no  longer  treading  the  earth,  but  floating  on  clouds 
of  blue  ether.  To  have  seen  Jesus  here  in  Jerusalem 
seemed  to  her  of  far  more  significance  than  seeing  Him 
in  the  wild,  lonely  forest  that  day  in  Dalecarlia.  There 
He  had  appeared  to  her  as  in  a  vision;  but,  now  that  he 
had  shown  himself  here,  it  meant  that  He  had  come 


THE  DERVISH  227 

back  to  labour  among  men.  This  coming  of  the  Christ 
was  something  so  great  that  she  could  not  at  once  grasp 
its  full  meaning;  but  peace  and  joy  and  bliss  were  the 
first  evidences  that  a  firm  belief  in  this  had  brought 
her. 

When  she  was  nearly  home  she  met  Ingmar  Ingmarsson 
in  the  road.  He  was  still  wearing  his  fine  black  clothes, 
which  were  so  ill-suited  to  his  plain  features  and  his  big, 
rough  hands.  He  looked  heavy  and  dejected.  From 
the  first  moment  Gertrude  had  seen  Ingmar  in  Jerusalem 
she  had  wondered  how  she  could  once  have  cared  so 
much  about  him.  It  seemed  strange  to  her  now  that 
at  home  in  Sweden  she  had  thought  him  such  a  great  man. 
Here  in  Jerusalem  he  only  appeared  awkward  and  out  of 
place.  She  could  not  comprehend  why  people  at  home 
should  have  thought  him  so  wonderful. 

She  had  harboured  no  ill-feeling  against  Ingmar,  but  on 
the  contrary  had  wanted  to  be  friendly  to  him.  But 
when  she  was  told  that  he  had  separated  from  his  wife 
and  had  come  to  Jerusalem  to  try  to  win  her,  Gertrude, 
back  again,  she  was  afraid  even  to  speak  to  him.  "I 
must  show  him  that  I  have  ceased  to  care.  It  will  never 
do  to  let  him  think  for  a  moment  that  I  could  be  per 
suaded.  He  has  probably  come  because  he  feels  that 
he  treated  me  badly;  but  when  he  sees  that  I  no  longer 
love  him  he  will  soon  come  to  his  senses,  and  go  home 
again." 

But  now,  on  meeting  Ingmar  outside  the  colony,  her 
only  thought  was  that  here  was  someone  to  whom 


228  THE  HOLY  CITY 

she  could  confide  her  wonderful  experience.  She  rushed 
up  to  him  crying:  "I  have  seen  Jesus." 

So  joyful  a  cry  had  surely  not  been  heard  on  these 
barren  fields  and  hills  around  Jerusalem  since  the  time 
the  pious  women  returning  from  the  empty  tomb  cried 
toFthe  Apostles,  The  Lord  is  Risen! 

Ingmar  stood  looking  down,  as  was  his  habit  when 
wishing  to  conceal  his  thoughts.  "Oh,  have  you?"  he 
said. 

Gertrude  grew  impatient — just  as  in  the  old  days, 
when  Ingmar  had  been  slow  to  enter  into  her  dreams 
and  vagaries.  She  only  wished  it  had  been  Bo,  instead, 
for  he  would  have  understood  her.  Nevertheless  she 
began  to  relate  what  she  had  seen. 

Ingmar  did  not  betray  by  word  or  look  that  he  had 
his  doubts,  but  Gertrude  felt,  somehow,  when  telling 
him  of  her  experience  that  there  was  nothing  much  to  it. 
She  had  seen  a  man  in  the  street  who  looked  like  Christ, 
as  He  has  been  pictured — that  was  all.  Now  it  seemed 
just  like  a  dream.  At  the  time  it  had  been  marvellously 
real  to  her;  but  when  she  tried  to  tell  about  it,  it  was 
all  so  vague. 

At  all  events  Ingmar  was  glad  she  had  spoken  to  him. 
He  questioned  her  minutely  as  to  the  hour  and  place 
she  had  met  the  man,  and  as  to  his  dress  and  general 
appearance. 

The  moment  they  reached  the  colony  Gertrude  left 
Ingmar.  She  felt  terribly  tired  and  downcast.  "I 
can  see  now  that  our  Lord  did  not  want  me  to  speak 


THE  DERVISH  229 

of  this,"  she  thought.  "Ah,  I  was  so  happy  while  I 
alone  knew  of  it!" 

She  resolved  to  say  no  more  about  this  to  anyone, 
and  to  ask  Ingmar  to  be  silent.  "It  is  true,"  she  told 
herself,  "it  is  true  that  I  have  met  the  One  I  saw 
in  the  forest.  But  it  is  perhaps  too  much  to  expect 
others  to  believe." 

A  few  days  later  Gertrude  was  much  surprised  when 
Ingmar  came  and  told  her  that  he  too  had  seen  the  man 
in  the  black  robe. 

"Ever  since  you  told  me  about  him,  I  have  walked  up 
and  down  that  street,  on  the  watch  for  him." 

"Ah,  then  you  did  believe  me  after  all!"  said  Ger 
trude,  the  fire  of  faith  kindling  afresh  within  her. 

"You  know  that  I've  never  been  quick  to  believe 
things,"  Ingmar  replied. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  face  so  radiant?"  asked  Ger 
trude. 

"No,"  said  Ingmar,  "I've  never  before  seen  a  face  like 
his." 

"Don't  you  see  it  before  you  wherever  you  are?" 

"I  must  confess  I  do." 

"Then  don't  you  believe  that  he  is  the  Christ?" 

Ingmar  evaded  the  question.  "It  is  for  him  to  show 
us  what  he  is." 

"If  I  could  only  see  Him  again!"  sighed  Gertrude. 

Ingmar  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment;  then  he 
said  rather  lightly:  "I  know  where  he  holds  forth  this 
evening." 


230  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Gertrude  was  all  eagerness.  "Oh,  Ingmar!  do  you 
really  know  where  He  is?  Then  you  must  take  me 
there,  so  that  I  may  see  Him  again." 

"But  it's  pitch  dark,"  Ingmar  protested.  "I  don't 
think  it  would  be  safe  to  go  to  the  city  at  this  late  hour." 

"It's  quite  safe,"  she  assured  him.  "I've  gone  there 
much  later  to  visit  the  sick."  Gertrude  had  some  diffi 
culty  persuading  him.  "You  must  think  me  out  of  my 
senses,  that's  why  you  don't  want  to  take  me,"  she  said, 
and  her  eyes  grew  dark  and  wild-looking. 

"It  was  stupid  of  me  to  tell  you  that  I'd  found  him," 
said  Ingmar,  "but  I  think  now  I'd  better  accompany 
you." 

Gertrude  was  elated,  and  wept  for  very  joy.  "We 
must  try  to  slip  away  from  the  colony  without  anyone 
seeing  us.  I  don't  want  to  tell  any  of  the  brethren  about 
it  until  I  have  seen  Him  again." 

She  managed  to  find  a  lantern,  and  they  were  soon 
on  their  way  to  the  city.  It  was  a  stormy  night;  the 
rain  and  the  wind  beat  against  them,  but  Gertrude  did 
not  mind.  "Are  you  quite  sure  that  I  shall  see  him 
to-night?"  she  asked,  time  after  time. 

Gertrude  talked  to  Ingmar  all  the  while  as  if  nothing 
had  ever  come  between  him  and  her.  She  gave  him  her 
full  confidence,  just  as  in  the  old  days,  telling  him  of  the 
many  mornings  she  had  been  up  on  the  Mount  of  Olives 
to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  Christ;  of  how  people 
had  embarrassed  her  by  standing  around  staring  at  her  as 
if  they  thought  she  were  mad.  "I  knew  that  He  would 


THE   DERVISH  231 

come,  you  see,  and  that's  why  I  went  there  to  watch 
for  Him.  I  would  rather  He  had  come  in  all  His  majesty 
and  glory — on  the  clouds  of  the  morning,  but  it  doesn't 
matter  now  He  is  here  that  He  chose  to  come  on  a  dark 
winter  night.  The  darkness  will  flee  once  He  reveals  Him 
self.  And  to  think  of  your  coming  here,  Ingmar,  just 
at  the  time  when  He  has  appeared  again  to  work  His 
wonders  among  men !  You  are  fortunate,  for  you  haven't 
had  to  go  about  day  after  day,  anxiously  waiting. 
You  have  come  at  just  the  right  time." 

Gertrude  stood  still  and  held  up  the  lantern,  so  that 
she  could  see  Ingmar's  face.  He  looked  troubled  and 
worn.  "Why,  Ingmar,  how  old  you  have  grown  in  a 
year!  I  can  see  what  you've  suffered  on  my  account. 
Now  you  mustn't  think  any  more  of  what  is  past.  It 
was  God's  will  things  should  go  as  they  did.  It  was 
His  great  mercy  toward  you  and  toward  me.  And  now 
He  has  brought  us  to  His  Holy  City,  that  we  might  be 
here  at  the  great  appointed  time.  Father  and  mother 
will  also  be  glad  when  they  see  God's  purpose  in  this," 
she  went  on.  "They  have  never  written  me  an  unkind 
word  for  my  desertion  of  them;  they  knew  that  it  would 
have  been  too  hard  for  me  at  home.  I  know  they  felt 
rather  bitter  toward  you;  but  now  they  will  be  reconciled 
with  the  two  children  who  grew  up  in  their  home.  I 
almost  believe  they  have  grieved  more  for  you  than  for 


me." 


Ingmar  walked  quietly  by  her  side  in  all  the  drench 
ing  rain;    he  did  not  respond  even  to  her  last  remark. 


232  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Perhaps  he  doesn't  believe  that  I  have  found  the  Christ," 
thought  Gertrude;  "but  what  of  it  as  long  as  he  is  taking 
me  to  Him?  I  shall  soon  see  all  the  people  and  princes 
of  this  earth  bow  the  knee  before  Him  who  is  their  Sav 


iour." 


Ingmar  took  Gertrude  to  the  Mohammedan  quarter 
of  the  city.  They  passed  through  many  dark  and  tor 
tuous  streets,  and  at  last  stopped  in  front  of  a  low  gate 
in  a  high,  windowless  wall.  Ingmar  pushed  the  gate 
open,  and  they  went  down  a  long,  dim  passageway  and 
came  into  a  lighted  courtyard. 

A  number  of  servants  were  at  their  work,  and  on  a 
stone  seat  near  a  wall  sat  two  old  men  with  their  legs 
drawn  up  under  them;  but  none  took  any  notice  of 
Ingmar  and  Gertrude.  They  seated  themselves  on 
another  wall  bench,  and  Gertrude  began  to  look  about  her. 

This  courtyard  was  like  many  another  she  had  seen 
in  Jerusalem.  On  all  four  sides  were  covered  colonnades 
and  over  the  open  space  at  the  centre  was  stretched  a 
big,  dirty  awning  that  hung  in  tatters. 

The  place  must  once  have  been  a  fine  and  imposing 
structure,  though  it  was  now  crumbling  in  ruins.  The 
pillars  looked  as  if  they  had  been  taken  from  a  church. 
Once  upon  a  time  they  doubtless  had  beautifully  carved 
capitals,  but  now  all  the  carvings  were  either  broken 
off  or  defaced.  The  plaster  on  the  walls  was  cracked 
and  broken,  and  the  many  holes  and  cracks  were  stuffed 
with  dirty  rags.  Over  against  one  wall  was  piled  a  lot 
of  old  boxes  and  hen-coops. 


THE  DERVISH  235 

Gertrude  whispered  to  Ingmar:  "Are  you  quite  sure 
it  is  here  I  shall  see  Him?" 

Ingmar  nodded  assent.  Pointing  to  a  score  of  small 
sheepskin  rugs  arranged  in  a  circle  at  the  centre  of  the 
court,  he  said:  "It  was  there  I  saw  him  yesterday  with 
his  disciples." 

Gertrude  looked  a  bit  crestfallen,  but  was  soon 
smiling  again.  "Strange  it  must  always  be  thus!"  she 
said.  "One  expects  Him  to  appear  with  glory  and 
honour,  though  He  cares  nothing  for  such  things.  He 
comes  in  lowliness  and  poverty.  You  understand,  of 
course,  that  I'm  not  like  the  Jews,  who  wouldn't  accept 
Him  because  He  did  not  appear  as  the  Prince  and  Ruler 
of  this  world." 

Presently  some  men  came  in  from  the  street.  They 
went  very  slowly  to  the  middle  of  the  courtyard  and 
sat  down  on  the  small  sheepskin  rugs.  All  the  men 
wore  Eastern  garb,  but  in  other  respects  they  dik 
fered  greatly.  Some  were  young,  some  old;  a  few  were 
attired  in  silks  and  costly  furs;  others  were  dressed 
as  poor  water-carriers  and  humble  tillers  of  the  soil. 
As  they  came  in,  Gertrude  attached  names  to  them. 

"See,  Ingmar!  there  is  Nicodemus,  who  came  to  Jesus 
by  night,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a  distinguished  looking 
elderly  man.  "The  one  with  the  big  beard  is  Peter, 
and  over  there  sits  Joseph  of  Arimathea.  It  has  never 
been  so  clear  to  me  before  how  the  disciples  of  Jesus 
gathered  about  him.  The  young  man  with  eyes  down 
cast  is  John,  and  trie  red-haired  one  in  the  felt  cap  is 


234  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Judas.  The  two  sitting  cross-legged  on  the  stone-seat 
smoking  narghiles,  are  scribes.  They  don't  believe  in 
Him,  and  have  only  come  from  curiosity  or  to  dispute 
with  Him." 

While  Gertrude  was  talking  all  the  places  in  the  circle 
were  filled  and  the  man  whom  she  was  expecting  had 
come  in  and  taken  his  place  at  the  centre. 

She  had  not  noticed  from  where  he  came,  and  could 
hardly  repress  a  cry  when  she  suddenly  caught  sight  of 
him.  "Yes,  it  is  He!"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands.  She  sat  gazing  at  the  man  in  rapt  wonder,  as  he 
stood  there  with  eyes  closed,  as  if  in  prayer,  and  the 
longer  she  looked  at  him  the  stronger  grew  her  faith. 
"Don't  you  see,  Ingmar,  that  he  is  not  a  mortal?"  she 
said  in  a  whisper. 

Ingmar  replied,  likewise  in  a  whisper:  "Yesterday, 
when  I  first  saw  him,  I  too  thought  him  something  more 
than  human." 

"Only  to  look  upon  Him  fills  me  with  bliss,"  said 
Gertrude.  "There  is  nothing  He  could  ask  of  me  that 
I  would  not  do  for  Him!" 

The  man  she  believed  to  be  the  Christ  now  stood  there 
with  all  the  dignity  of  authority.  He  raised  his  hand  a 
little,  and  instantly  all  who  were  seated  on  the  ground 
intoned  in  a  loud  voice:  Allah!  Allah!  at  the  same 
time  jerking  their  heads  from  side  to  side.  They  did 
it  over  and  over  again,  with  each  jerk  crying:  Allah! 
Allah!  The  man  stood  almost  motionless,  merely  mark 
ing  the  time  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  head. 


THE   DERVISH  235 

"What  is  this?"   asked  Gertrude. 

"You  have  been  in  Jerusalem  longer  than  I,"  said 
Ingmar,  "and  must  know  more  about  such  things  than 
I  do." 

"I  have  heard  about  a  sect  called  dancing  dervishes," 
Gertrude  replied;  "this  must  be  their  service.  It  is  per 
haps  the  custom  in  this  country  to  open  a  meeting  in 
this  way,  just  as  we  begin  ours  with  a  hymn.  When 
this  is  over,  He  will  surely  begin  to  expound  His  teach 
ing.  How  I  long  to  hear  His  voice!" 

The  men  seated  on  the  ground  about  him  continued 
to  cry  Allah!  Allah!  while  jerking  their  heads  from  side 
to  side,  and  their  movements  grew  more  rapid  and  vio 
lent.  Big  drops  of  sweat  now  stood  on  their  foreheads 
and  their  Allah-cries  sounded  alike  the  death-rattle. 

When  they  had  kept  this  up  uninterruptedly  for  sev 
eral  minutes,  their  leader  made  a  little  movement  with 
his  hand,  at  which  they  immediately  stopped. 

Gertrude  sat  looking  down,  so  as  not  to  see  them  tor 
ment  themselves.  When  there  was  silence,  she  looked 
up  at  Ingmar  and  said:  "Now  He  will  begin  to  speak. 
How  fortunate  for  those  who  can  understand  His 
preaching!  But  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  only  listening  to 
His  voice." 

The  silence  lasted  but  a  moment.  Presently  the  leader 
gave  a  signal,  at  which  his  followers  again  began  to 
shout  Allah!  Allah!  This  time  they  not  only  moved  their 
heads,  but  the  upper  part  of  their  bodies.  The  man 
with  the  strong  face  and  the  beautiful  Christ-like  eyes 


236  THE  HOLY  CITY 

only  urged  on  his  followers  to  greater  and  more  violent 
action.  He  allowed  them  to  go  on  like  that  minute  after 
minute.  As  though  impelled  by  a  power  outside  them 
selves,  they  kept  it  up  much  longer  than  one  would 
have  thought  the  human  body  could  stand.  It  was 
terrible  to  watch  these  men,  who  looked  half-dead  from 
their  exertions,  and  to  hear  the  hoarse  cries  that  came 
from  their  parched  throats. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  followed  by  more  groans  and 
contortions,  then  came  another  pause. 

"Those  fellows  must  have  had  a  lot  of  practice,"  said 
Ingmar,  "to  be  able  to  keep  it  up  like  this." 

Gertrude  turned  to  Ingmar  with  an  appealing  look, 
her  lips  quivering.  "Do  you  think  He  will  ever  stop 
them?"  she  asked.  Then,  on  looking  again  at  the  com 
manding  figure  standing  in  the  midst  of  his  disciples 
new  hope  sprang  up  in  her.  "The  sick  and  the  sorrow 
ing  will  soon  come  seeking  Him,"  she  said  with  fervour. 
"We  shall  see  Him  heal  the  lepers  and  give  sight  to  the 
blind." 

But  the  dervish  continued  as  he  had  begun.  He 
made  a  sign,  and  in  a  second  the  men  were  on  their  feet. 
And  now  their  movement  became  even  more  violent. 
They  stood,  each  on  his  own  rug,  while  their  poor  bodies 
rocked  and  swayed  with  the  utmost  abandon.  Their 
eyes,  now  dull  and  bloodshot,  had  a  fixed  stare  about 
them.  Several  of  the  men  seemed  unconscious  of  where 
they  were.  Their  bodies  moved,  as  if  automatically,  to 
and  fro,  from  side  to  side,  up  and  down,  faster  and  faster. 


THE  DERVISH  237 

Finally,  when  they  had  been  sitting  there  fully  two 
hours,  Gertrude,  in  dismay,  seized  hold  of  Ingmar's  arm. 
"Has  he  nothing  but  this  to  teach  them?"  she  whis 
pered.  It  had  begun  to  dawn  on  her  that  the  man 
whom  she  had  believed  to  be  the  Christ  had  nothing 
else  to  give  in  the  way  of  teaching  than  these  weird  prac 
tices.  All  he  did  was  to  excite  and  urge  on  these  poor 
madmen.  When  one  of  them  moved  faster  and  more 
continuously  than  the  rest,  he  would  place  him  inside 
the  ring,  and  let  him  stand  there  salaaming  and  groan 
ing,  as  an  example  to  the  others.  And  he  himself 
began  to  twist  and  writhe,  as  if  unable  to  hold  still  any 
longer. 

Gertrude  tried  to  choke  back  her  rising  tears.  All 
her  dreams  and  hopes  were  shattered.  "Has  he  noth 
ing  else  to  teach  them  ? "  she  asked  once  more. 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  query,  the  dervish  motioned 
to  some  attendants  who  hitherto  had  taken  no  part  in 
the  service,  and  who  quickly  seized  upon  some  instru 
ments  that  hung  on  a  pillar — drums  and  tambourines — 
and  began  to  play  them.  With  the  beating  of  the  drums 
and  tambourines,  the  Allah-cries  grew  wilder  and  more 
shrill,  and  the  men's  contortions  increasingly  violent. 
Several  of  the  dervishes  tore  off  their  fezzes  and  turbans 
and  loosened  their  long  hair.  They  looked  frightful 
as  they  whirled  and  swayed,  their  hair  now  tumbling 
down  over  their  faces,  now  flying  at  their  backs.  Their 
eyes  grew  more  and  more  fixed,  their  faces  more  like 
dead  men's  faces;  their  movements  became  spasmodic 


238  THE  HOLY  CITY 

convulsions.  They  even  frothed  at  the  mouth,  as  does  a 
man  in  a  fit. 

Gertrude  stood  up.  Her  joy  and  ecstasy  were  gone, 
her  last  hope  dead.  There  remained  to  her  only  a  feeling 
of  unspeakable  loathing.  She  walked  toward  the  gate 
without  even  looking  back  at  the  man  whom  she  had 
imagined  was  the  God-sent  Saviour. 

"It  is  sad  about  this  land,"  said  Ingmar,  when  they 
were  in  the  street  again.  "Think  what  prophets  and 
teachers  they  had  here  in  olden  times! — and  in  our 
day  a  man  goes  about  in  this  holy  place  whose  teaching 
is  nothing  more  than  making  his  disciples  behave  like 
lunatics." 

Gertrude  did  not  speak;  she  hastened  homeward  as 
fast  as  she  could.  When  they  reached  the  colony,  she 
lifted  her  lantern.  "Did  you  see  him  like  that  yester 
day?"  she  asked,  looking  into  Ingmar's  face  with  eyes 
flashing  with  anger. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  without  the  least  hesitation. 

"Couldn't  you  bear  to  see  me  happy?"  said  Gertrude; 
"was  that  why  you  took  me  to  see  him  there?  I'll 
never  forgive  you  for  this,"  she  added. 

"I  understand  how  you  must  feel  about  it,"  said  Ing- 
mar,  "but  I  did  what  I  thought  was  best  for  you." 

They  stole  quietly  in  by  the  back  door.  "Now  you 
can  sleep  peacefully,"  Gertrude  said,  bitterly.  "For 
you  have  done  your  work  well.  I  no  longer  think  that 
man  the  Christ,  and  I'm  not  crazy  any  more.  Oh,  yes, 
you've  done  your  work  well!"  Ingmar  went  up  the  stair- 


THE  DERVISH  239 

way  leading  to  the  men's  dormitory,  Gertrude  following. 
"Mind!  I  shall  never  forgive  you  for  this,"  she  reiter 
ated. 

Whereupon  she  went  to  her  own  room,  threw  herself 
on  the  bed,  and  cried  herself  to  sleep.  In  the  morning 
she  wakened  early,  as  usual,  but  did  not  arise.  She 
wondered  at  herself.  "What  is  the  matter  with  me? 
Why  don't  I  get  up?  How  does  it  happen  that  I  have 
no  desire  to  go  to  the  Mount  of  Olives?" 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes,  and  burst  into  tears 
again.  "My  hope  is  gone!"  she  sobbed.  "I  no  longer 
expect  Him.  It  hurt  too  much  yesterday  when  I  saw  how 
I  had  been  deluding  myself.  I  dare  not  expect  Him  now; 
I  don't  believe  He  will  ever  come." 

For  a  whole  week  Gertrude  did  not  go  near  the  Mount 
of  Olives.  Then,  one  morning  the  old  longing  and  belief 
awoke  anew  in  her  and  she  quietly  stole  out  and  went 
thither  again,  and  all  was  as  it  had  been  before. 

When  the  colonists  had  gathered  in  the  large  room 
in  the  evening,  as  was  their  wont,  Ingmar  saw  Gertrude 
sitting  beside  Bo,  to  whom  she  talked  long  and  earnestly. 

After  a  while  Bo  arose  and  went  up  to  Ingmar.  "Ger 
trude  has  just  been  telling  me  what  you  did  for  her  the 
other  evening." 

"Has  she?"  said  Ingmar,  not  comprehending  to  what 
he  referred. 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I  understand  you  did  it  to 
save  her  reason." 

"Surely  it  is  not  so  serious  as  all  that?" 


24o  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Yes,"  said  Bo;  "one  who  has  lived  in  the  shadow 
of  this  threatening  doom  for  more  than  a  year  knows 
how  serious  it  is." 

As  Bo  turned  to  go,  Ingmar  suddenly  put  out  his  hand. 

"Let  me  say  to  you  that  there  is  no  one  here  I  would 
rather  be  friends  with  than  with  you,"  he  said. 

Bo  smiled.  "I'm  afraid  the  ice  would  hardly  be 
broken  before  we  were  at  outs  again."  But  just  the  same 
he  gave  Ingmar  a  hearty  handclasp. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS 

INGMAR  INGMARSSON  had  been  in  Jerusalem 
about  two  months,  when  he  happened  one  day  to 
be  standing  down  by  the  Jaffa  gate.  The  weather 
was  uncommonly  fine  and  there  were  many  people  out; 
Ingmar  took  keen  delight  in  watching  the  motley  throngs 
that  passed  in  and  out  through  the  gateway. 

He  had  not  stood  there  long,  however,  before  he  found 
himself  back  in  the  thoughts  which  now  filled  his  mind 
continually.  "If  I  could  only  persuade  Gertrude  to 
leave  the  colony!"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  it  seems 
quite  impossible." 

Ingmar  realized  that  he  could  not  let  Gertrude  remain 
in  Jerusalem,  but  must  take  her  back  with  him,  if  he 
hoped  ever  again  to  have  peace  of  mind.  "If  she  were 
only  well  out  of  this  dreadful  land,  where  there  are  so 
many  hard,  cruel  people  and  so  many  queer  visionaries 
and  fanatics!  To  get  her  back  to  Dalecarlia  is  my  sole 
concern  now.  Whether  I  love  her  or  she  loves  me  doesn't 
matter;  it's  my  duty  to  take  her  home  to  her  parents. 

"Things  don't  appear  to  be  going  as  well  with  the 
colony  now  as  when  I  arrived.  Hard  times  have  struck 
it;  and  that  seems  reason  enough  for  Gertrude  to  go 
home.  I  can't  understand  why  the  colonists  have  be 
come  so  poor  all  at  once;  they  seem  to  be  entirely  witri- 

243 


244  THE  HOLY  CITY 

out  funds.  Not  one  of  them  can  afford  to  buy  even  an 
orange  at  a  fruit-stall,  and  at  meal-times  they  hardly 
eat  enough  to  sustain  them." 

Ingmar  had  observed  of  late  that  Gertrude  was  begin 
ning  to  care  for  Bo,  and  thought  that  perhaps  she  might 
marry  him  if  they  were  only  in  Sweden.  This  Ingmar 
felt  would  be  the  greatest  happiness  that  he  could  now 
hope  for.  "I  fear  there's  no  chance  of  my  winning 
Barbro  back,  but  I  shall  be  satisfied  so  long  as  I  don't 
have  to  marry  another;  if  I  can't  have  Barbro,  I'd  rather 
go  through  life  alone."  He  quickly  put  these  thoughts  out 
of  his  mind,  and  took  himself  severely  to  task.  "You 
mustn't  imagine  this  thing  or  that,  but  devise  a  way  to 
get  Gertrude  home." 

As  Ingmar  stood  musing  he  saw  one  of  the  Gordon 
colonists,  an  American  named  Clifford,  come  out  from 
the  American  Consulate,  accompanied  by  the  Consul 
himself.  "This  looks  a  bit  queer,"  thought  Ingmar, 
for  he  had  learned  through  various  sources  that  the  Consul 
continually  sought  to  create  trouble  for  the  colonists, 
and  that  he  had  always  felt  a  strong  antipathy  for  them. 
Apparently  these  two  Americans  were  on  most  friendly 
terms. 

"Then  you  think  it  will  be  quite  safe  to  do  it  to-morrow 
morning?"  said  the  Consul  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,"  replied  Clifford.  "You  see  it  will  have  to  be 
done  before  Mrs.  Gordon  gets  back." 

"Don't  lose  your  nerve,"  said  the  Consul;  "whatever 
happens,  I'll  take  care  of  you." 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  245 

At  that  moment  the  Consul  caught  sight  of  Ingmar. 
"Isn't  that  one  of  them?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 
Alarmed,  Clifford  looked  round,  but  felt  reassured  on 
seeing  it  was  only  Ingmar.  "Oh,  that's  the  newcomer 
who  goes  about  all  day  looking  as  if  he  were  asleep," 
he  said,  not  even  taking  the  trouble  to  lower  his  voice. 
"I  don't  think  the  fellow  understands  English." 

The  Consul  appeared  relieved,  and,  bidding  Clifford 
good-bye,  he  said:  "To-morrow  we'll  be  rid  of  the  whole 
gang." 

Clifford  grunted  assent,  though  he  looked  less  confi 
dent  now.  He  stood  watching  the  retreating  figure  of 
the  Consul  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  his  way. 
Ingmar,  motionless  with  amazement,  lingered  a  while. 
That  which  he  had  just  overheard  made  him  feel  very 
uneasy. 

"Clifford  was  right  about  my  ignorance  of  English, 
but  I  understand  enough  to  know  that  he's  up  to  some 
deviltry.  He  means  to  make  trouble  for  the  colonists 
while  Mrs.  Gordon  is  down  at  Jaffa.  I  wonder  what 
he  plans  to  do?  The  Consul  looked  as  pleased  as  if  his 
long  cherished  wish  to  break  up  the  colony  were  an 
accomplished  fact. 

"From  what  I  can  gather,  Clifford  has  long  been 
dissatisfied  with  the  management  of  the  colony,"  he 
reflected.  "I've  heard  that  in  the  beginning  he  was 
one  of  the  most  zealous  of  the  brethren;  but  of  late  his 
zeal  seems  to  have  cooled  considerably.  Who  knows? 
— perhaps  he  is  in  love  with  one  of  the  sisters  and  means 


246  THE  HOLY  CITY 

to  get  her  by  hook  or  crook.  Or  maybe  he  thinks  the  col 
ony  can't  hold  out  much  longer  anyway  for  lack  of 
funds,  and  might  as  well  be  broken  up  one  time  as  an 
other.  Very  likely  he  has  become  discouraged  at  the 
way  things  are  going.  I  believe  he  has  been  trying  for 
some  time  to  make  the  others  discontented.  I  once  heard 
him  remark  that  Miss  Young  was  better  dressed  than 
any  of  the  other  sisters,  and  another  time  he  declared 
they  had  better  food  at  Mrs.  Gordon's  table  than  was 
served  at  the  other  tables.  Lord  preserve  us!"  thought 
Ingmar,  stepping  out  into  the  road.  "He's  a  dangerous 
fellow,  this  Clifford.  I'd  better  hurry  home  at  once  and 
warn  the  people." 

But  in  a  moment  he  went  back  to  where  he  had  been 
standing  at  the  gate.  "You,  Ingmar,  should  be  the 
last  person  to  tell  the  colonists  of  this.  You  just  let 
that  fellow  alone;  it  will  make  matters  all  the  easier 
for  you.  You've  been  wondering  how  Gertrude  could 
be  made  to  leave  the  colony,  now  it  will  come  about  of 
itself.  Evidently  both  Clifford  and  the  Consul  are  bent 
upon  driving  the  Gordonites  out  of  Jerusalem.  I  hope  to 
goodness  the  colony  will  be  broken  up!  In  that  event 
Gertrude  would  be  glad  enough  to  go  back  to  Dalecarlia 
with  me." 

At  the  thought  that  he  might  soon  be  going  home 
Ingmar  felt  as  if  he  could  hardly  wait  the  day  out.  "  By 
rights  I  should  now  be  at  work  in  the  old  forest,  cutting 
timber.  I  can  feel  the  muscles  of  my  arm  tighten,  and 
my  fingers  ache  to  get  hold  of  an  axe.  I  can't  compre- 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  247 

hend  how  the  Swedes  here  have  been  able  to  stand  it  so 
long  without  any  work  in  field  or  forest.  If  Tims  Halvor 
had  had  a  kiln  to  tend  or  an  acre  to  plow  I'm  sure  he 
would  have  been  alive  to-day." 

Ingmar  could  scarcely  contain  himself  for  eagerness 
and  longing.  He  went  through  the  gateway  and  down  the 
road  leading  across  the  Valley  of  Hinnom.  Time  and 
again,  with  ever  increasing  conviction,  the  thought 
recurred  to  him  that  Gertrude  would  marry  Bo  could  he 
but  take  them  back  to  Sweden.  Perhaps  Karin  too 
would  come,  and  once  more  be  the  mistress  of  Ingmar 
Farm.  That  arrangement  would  be  the  most  natural 
one,  he  reasoned,  for  then  Karin's  son  would  some  day 
inherit  the  property. 

"Even  if  Barbro  should  decide  to  go  back  to  her 
father's  parish,  she  wouldn't  be  so  very  far  away  but 
that  I  could  see  her  sometimes,"  he  mused,  continuing 
to  make  plans  for  the  future.  "I  can  go  to  her  church 
every  Sunday,  if  I  like,  and  now  and  then  we  might  meet 
at  a  wedding  or  a  funeral,  and  at  the  feast  I  could  arrange 
to  sit  next  to  her  at  table,  so  that  I  could  talk  with  her. 
We  can  be  friends  even  if  we  are  divorced." 

He  felt  it  was  not  right  for  him  to  be  pleased  at  the 
prospect  of  the  colony  breaking  up,  but  he  tried  to  justify 
his  attitude  to  himself.  "I^o  one  could  live  among  the 
colonists,  as  long  as  I  have  without  knowing  what  good 
people  they  are,"  he  thought,  "yet  who  could  wish  for  a 
continuation  of  existing  conditions?  Think  how  many 
of  their  people  have  died  within  the  year!  And  think  of 


248  THE  HOLY  CITY 

all  the  persecution  they  have  had  to  endure!  And  now 
poverty  has  come  upon  them.  With  starvation  threat 
ening  them,  how  can  one  help  wishing  they  would  dis 
band?" 

While  these  thoughts  were  running  through  his  mind, 
he  was  walking  toward  the  colony.  He  had  passed  the 
Valley  of  Hinnom  and  taken  the  road  leading  to  the 
Mountain  of  Evil  Counsel,  where  modern  palaces  stand 
side  by  side  with  ancient  ruins.  Ingmar  passed  these 
without  thinking  of  where  he  was.  Sometimes  he 
would  stop,  and  then  go  on,  as  one  does  when  deep  in 
thought. 

He  presently  found  himself  standing  under  a  tree.  It 
was  rather  high  and  unlike  other  trees  in  that  its  branches 
were  all  on  one  side  of  the  stem  and  did  not  grow  upward, 
but  were  twisted  and  closely  intertwined,  forming  a  net 
work  of  branches  that  pointed  straight  toward  the  east. 

When  Ingmar  finally  saw  what  tree  it  was  he  gave  a 
start.  "It  is  the  Judas-tree!"  he  gasped.  "It  was 
here  the  betrayer  hanged  himself.  How  strange  that 
I  should  have  strayed  hitherward ! " 

He  continued  to  look  up  at  the  tree.  "I  wonder  if 
our  Lord  has  brought  me  here  to  show  me  that  I'm  a 
traitor  to  the  colony?  What  if  it  be  God's  will  that  this 
colony  shall  continue  to  exist  ? " 

Ingmar's  mind  now  worked  heavily  and  slowly,  and 
the  thoughts  that  came  to  him  were  bitter  and  painful. 
"Justify  yourself  as  you  will,  you  do  wrong  not  to  warn 
the  colonists  when  you  know  there  is  a  conspiracy  against 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  249 

them.  It  looks  as  if  you  thought  our  Lord  did  not  know 
what  He  was  about  when  He  brought  your  nearest 
and  dearest  to  this  strange  land.  Even  though  you 
cannot  divine  His  purpose  in  this,  you  certainly  under 
stand  it  was  never  meant  that  the  good  work  should  be 
carried  on  only  for  a  year  or  two.  It  may  be  that  God 
looked  down  upon  Jerusalem,  and,  seeing  all  the  strife 
and  discord  that  raged  in  the  city,  thought:  "Behold, 
even  here  will  I  establish  a  sanctuary,  where  unity  shall 
prevail,  a  house  of  concord  and  peace  will  I  raise  up  in 
this  place." 

Ingmar  stood  under  the  Judas-tree  battling  with 
his  thoughts,  which  clashed  like  opposing  warriors  in  a 
desperate  fight.  He  still  clung  to  the  hope  that  he 
would  soon  be  going  home,  and  strove  hard  to  keep  it. 
The  sun  went  down  and  darkness  quickly  followed  in  its 
wake,  but  Ingmar  remained  standing  under  the  tree 
debating  with  himself. 

At  last  he  folded  his  hands,  and  prayed:  "O  God, 
help  me  to  walk  in  Thy  ways!" 

Ingmar  had  no  sooner  breathed  these  words,  than  a 
wonderful  sense  of  peace  came  to  him.  At  the  same 
time  he  felt  that  his  own  will  had  been  subdued,  and  that 
he  was  now  being  moved  by  a  will  outside  himself.  It 
was  as  if  someone  had  taken  him  by  the  hand  and  was 
leading  him.  "It  is  God  leading  me,"  he  thought. 

He  went  down  the  Mountain  of  Evil  Counsel,  across 
the  Valley  of  Hinnom,  and  past  Jerusalem.  His  sole 
thought  now  was  to  go  back  to  the  colony  and  tell  the 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

authorities  there  what  he  had  discovered.  When  he 
came  to  the  place  where  the  road  to  Jaffa  branches  off 
he  heard  the  tramp  of  horses  behind  him.  Turning 
round,  he  saw  a  dragoman  whom  he  had  often  seen  at 
the  colony  coming  up  with  a  pair  of  horses,  one  of  which 
he  rode  while  leading  the  other  by  the  bridle. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Ingmar  shouted,  hailing  the 
dragoman. 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  Jaffa,"  said  the  man. 

"That's  where  I  want  to  go."  It  suddenly  flashed 
into  his  mind  that  he  must  avail  himself  of  this  oppor 
tunity  and  go  straight  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  rather  than  to 
the  colony. 

After  some  parley,  the  dragoman  told  him  he  might 
ride  the  bther  horse.  It  was  a  fine  animal.  Ingmar 
congratulated  himself  upon  his  happy  thought.  "I 
can  surely  cover  the  thirty  odd  miles  to  Jaffa  to-night," 
he  mused,  "in  which  case  Mrs.  Gordon  can  be  back 
at  the  colony  by  to-morrow  afternoon."  Ingmar  had 
not  been  riding  more  than  an  hour  when  his  horse 
went  lame.  On  dismounting,  he  found  that  it  had 
lost  a  shoe.  "What's  to  be  done  now?"  he  asked  the 
dragoman. 

"The  only  thing  is  for  me  to  go  back  to  Jerusalem 
and  get  it  shod,"  replied  the  man. 

And  there  stood  Ingmar  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
at  a  loss  what  to  do.  Suddenly  he  decided  to  continue 
the  journey  to  Jaffa  on  foot.  He  did  not  ask  himself 
what  was  the  best  thing  to  do;  the  power  that  was  guid- 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  251 

ing   him    urged    him   onward.     He   could    not   think   of 
turning  back. 

Ingmar  set  off  to  walk,  covering  the  ground  quickly 
with  his  long,  steady  strides.  When  he  had  been  walking 
for  some  little  time,  he  began  to  feel  uneasy.  "How  am  I 
to  find  out  whereabouts  in  Jaffa  Mrs.  Gordon  is  staying?" 
he  wondered.  "It  was  all  very  well  so  long  as  the  drago 
man  was  with  me.  Now  I  shall  have  to  go  from  house 
to  house  to  inquire  for  her."  But  he  pushed  on  reso 
lutely  despite  his  uneasiness. 

•He  walked  along  a  good  broad  highway,  where  he 
could  easily  have  made  his  way  even  on  a  dark  night. 
A  little  later,  when  the  moon  rose,  the  hills  round  which 
the  road  wound  its  way  became  visible  on  all  sides. 

As  soon  as  Ingmar  had  put  one  hill  behind  him,  an 
other  confronted  him.  He  had  moments  of  great  wear 
iness,  but  the  strange  power  that  seemed  to  be  guiding 
him  drove  him  forward.  There  was  no  time  to  stop  and 
rest. 

Thus  Ingmar  continued  hour  after  hour.  He  had  no 
idea  as  to  how  far  he  had  come,  but  he  was  still  among 
the  hills.  Whenever  he  reached  the  top  of  a  ridge  he 
thought:  "I  must  surely  be  near  enough  now  to  see 
the  Plain  of  Sharon  and  the  sea  beyond  it";  but  all  he 
saw  was  range  upon  range  of  hills.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  It  was  close  upon  midnight.  "Heavenly  Fath 
er,  is  it  that  late!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  I'm  still  tramp 
ing  Judaea's  mountains." 

He  grew  more  and  more  concerned,  and  all  at  once 


252  THE  HOLY  CITY 

set  off  to  run.  He  panted  for  breath,  his  temples  throbbed, 
and  his  heart  beat  violently.  "I  can't  keep  this  up 
much  longer,"  he  thought,  but  just  the  same  he  went  on 
running. 

He  rushed  down  a  steep  slope  at  full  speed.  The  road 
lay  before  him  in  the  moonlight,  straight  and  smooth, 
and  no  thought  of  danger  entered  his  mind.  At  the 
bottom  lay  a  dark  gully,  but  on  he  ran  until  he  suddenly 
stumbled  and  fell. 

Instantly  he  was  on  his  feet  again;  but  now  his  knee 
hurt  him  so  that  he  could  hardly  walk.  "I'll  soon  be  all 
right,"  he  thought,  and  sat  down  by  the  roadside  to  rest. 
It  was  almost  impossible  for  him  to  sit  still  even  long 
enough  to  regain  his  breath.  "I  can  feel  that  I'm  not 
my  own  master,"  he  said.  "Something  seems  to  be  pull 
ing  and  dragging  me  on  toward  Jaffa." 

Again  he  got  up.  His  knee  still  pained  him  badly; 
he  walked  on,  ignoring  the  pain,  but  presently  found 
himself  lying  flat  in  the  road.  "I'm  all  used  up,"  he 
said,  as  if  talking  to  the  power  that  was  urging  him  on. 
"In  God's  name  find  a  way  to  help  me!" 

As  Ingmar  said  this  he  heard  in  the  distance  the  rum 
bling  noise  of  wheels,  as  if  a  wagon  were  approaching  with 
incredible  swiftness.  Almost  in  the  same  moment  that 
he  heard  it  afar  it  sounded  as  if  quite  close  upon  him.  He 
could  hear  a  horse  come  tearing  down  the  hillside  at 
a  wild  gallop.  Above  the  rumble  of  wheels  and  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  he  distinguished  the  incessant  cracking 
of  a  whip  and  the  shouts  of  the  driver. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  253 

He  was  not  long  getting  up  and  hobbling  to  the  side 
of  the  road,  to  escape  being  run  over. 

In  a  twinkling  the  driver  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  long  slope  down  which  Ingmar  had  but  just  come. 
The  vehicle  was  an  ordinary  green-painted  cart,  the  kind 
that  is  used  in  West  Dalecarlia.  "Humph!  there's 
something  queer  about  this,"  thought  Ingmar.  "I 
hardly  think  there  are  any  carts  of  this  kind  to  be  found 
in  Palestine."  The  driver  appeared  even  more  strange 
to  the  place.  He,  too,  was  evidently  from  the  old  coun 
try,  and  looked  like  a  real  Dalecarlian,  with  his  small 
round  black  hat  and  his  bobbed  hair.  Moreover,  he  had 
removed  his  coat,  showing  his  green  homespun  waist 
coat  with  red  sleeves.  That  outfit  hailed  from  Dale 
carlia,  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  About  the  horse,  too, 
there  was  something  peculiar.  It  was  a  fine  big  animal 
with  a  glossy  black  coat  that  was  so  well  groomed  it  fairly 
shone.  The  man  drove  standing  up,  and  was  bending 
far  over  the  horse,  cracking  his  whip  over  its  head  to 
make  it  go  faster.  The  horse  did  not  appear  to  feel 
the  lashing,  nor  did  it  seem  to  be  any  strain  upon 
it  to  travel  at  such  a  pace;  it  pranced  down  the  road 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  frolic.  When  the  driver 
came  alongside  of  Ingmar  he  pulled  up  with  a  jerk.  "I'll 
give  you  a  lift,  if  you  like,"  he  said.  Anxious  as  Ingmar 
was  to  get  to  Jaffa,  he  did  not  feel  especially  eager  to 
accept  the  offer.  He  felt  that  there  was  something 
weird  about  it  all.  And  besides,  that  driver  had  a 
hideous  face,  covered  with  scars,  as  if  he  had  been  in 


254  THE  HOLY  CITY 

many  a  fight;  over  one  eyebrow  there  was  a  fresh  knife- 
cut.  "No  doubt  I  drive  faster  than  you  are  accustomed 
to  travelling,"  said  the  man,  "but  I  supposed  you  were  in 
a  hurry." 

"Is  your  horse  safe?"  asked  Ingmar. 

"Oh,  he's  safe  enough;  he  is  blind." 

Ingmar  shook  from  head  to  foot.  Suddenly  the  driver 
leaned  over  the  side  of  the  wagon  and  looked  him  in  the 
face. 

"You  come  along  with  me,"  he  said;  "there's  nothing 
to  be  feared.  I  think  you  can  guess  who  sent  me." 

When  the  man  said  that  Ingmar's  courage  returned; 
he  climbed  into  the  cart,  and  they  drove  off  at  a  mad 
pace  toward  the  Plain  of  Sharon. 

Mrs.  Gordon  had  gone  to  Jaffa  to  nurse  a  sick 
friend — the  wife  of  a  missionary,  who  had  always  been 
friendly  to  the  colonists,  and  had  helped  them  in  many 
ways. 

The  night  Ingmar  Ingmarsson  was  on  his  way  to  Jaffa 
Mrs.  Gordon  sat  up  with  her  patient  till  after  midnight, 
when  she  was  relieved  of  her  charge.  Coming  out  from 
the  sick-room,  she  noticed  how  clear  the  night  was  in 
that  beautiful  silvery-white  moonlight  which  one  sees 
only  near  the  coast.  She  stepped  out  onto  the  balcony 
overlooking  the  big  orange-groves  and  the  old  town, 
towering  on  its  steep  rock  cliff,  and  the  shining  waters 
of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  house  where  Mrs.  Gordon  was  stopping  was  not 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  255 

in  the  city  itself,  but  in  the  German  colony,  which  lay 
on  a  little  hill  outside  the  town.  Below  her  balcony 
stretched  the  broad  highroad  that  runs  straight  through 
the  colony.  In  the  white  moonlight  she  could  see  quite 
a  distance  down  the  road,  and  distinguish  the  houses  and 
gardens  on  either  side. 

She  saw  a  man  coming  up  the  road  very  slowly,  and  as  if 
uncertain  of  his  way.  He  was  a  tall  man,  and  the  moon 
light  made  him  appear  taller  than  he  actually  was.  To 
Mrs.  Gordon  he  looked  a  giant.  He  paused  before  each 
house  and  glanced  up  inquiringly.  Mrs.  Gordon  somehow 
had  the  feeling  that  there  was  something  uncanny  about 
the  man — as  if  he  were  a  wandering  ghost  trying  to  find  a 
house  where  he  could  appear  and  frighten  the  poor  in 
mates  out  of  their  wits. 

At  last  the  man  came  up  to  the  house  where  Mrs. 
Gordon  was.  He  viewed  it  more  carefully  than  he  had 
the  others,  walked  all  around  it,  rapped  on  the  window 
shutters  and  tried  the  door.  Mrs.  Gordon  leaned  over 
the  balcony  railing  to  see  what  he  would  do  next,  when 
the  man  suddenly  caught  sight  of  her. 

"Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  said  in  a  low,  cautious  tone  of 
voice,  "I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  you."  As  he 
bent  his  head  back  to  look  up  at  her,  she  saw  that  it  was 
Ingmar  Ingmarsson.  "First  of  all  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
have  come  here  entirely  on  my  own  responsibility,  and 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  brethren." 

"Has  anything  happened  at  home?"  asked  Mrs. 
Gordon. 


256  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"No,"  replied  Ingmar,  "not  as  yet;  but  it  would  be  well, 
I  think,  if  you  went  back." 

"I  shall  come  to-morrow,"  she  told  him. 

Ingmar  thought  a  moment,  and  then  he  said,  almost 
in  a  whisper:  "You'd  better  return  to-night." 

Mrs.  Gordon  felt  somewhat  annoyed  at  the  man.  Why 
should  she  rouse  the  whole  household  in  order  to  get 
away  at  once?  she  asked  herself.  "If  I  could  only  find 
out  what  the  difficulty  is,"  she  thought,  and  began  to 
question  him  as  to  whether  anyone  had  been  taken  ill  or 
whether  the  brethren  were  in  need  of  money.  Instead 
of  replying,  Ingmar  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Are  you  going  already?"   said  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"You  have  been  warned,"  Ingmar  answered,  without 
looking  back;  "now  do  as  you  please." 

Then  Mrs.  Gordon  began  to  apprehend  there  was  some 
thing  serious  afoot,  and  quickly  reached  a  decision.  "Wait 
a  moment!"  she  called  to  him,  "and  you  can  drive  back 
with  me." 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  returned.  "I  have  a  better 
conveyance,  I  think,  than  you  can  offer  me." 

Mrs.  Gordon's  host  let  her  have  a  pair  of  fast  horses 
and  a  light  carriage.  She  drove  at  a  furious  pace  across 
the  Plain  of  Sharon  and  over  the  hills  toward  the  Judaean 
mountains,  and  by  daybreak  she  was  driving  down  the 
long  slope  above  the  old  robbers'  haunt,  Ab  Gosch. 
"It  was  stupid  of  me  to  pay  any  heed  to  that  peasant, 
who  knows  nothing  about  our  affairs,"  she  thought  now, 
and  felt  tempted  to  turn  and  drive  back  to  Jaffa. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  257 

She  had  just  cleared  a  long  stretch  of  hills  and  was 
passing  through  a  gully,  when  she  descried  a  man  sitting 
at  the  roadside.  As  the  team  approached,  the  man  looked 
up,  and  she  saw  that  it  was  Ingmar  Ingmarsson. 

"How  could  he  have  got  this  far  so  soon?"  she  won 
dered,  and  pulling  up  sharply,  she  called  to  him. 

Ingmar,  overjoyed  at  hearing  her  voice,  rose  at  once. 
"Are  you  going  back  to  the  colony,  Mrs.  Gordon?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Good!"  said  Ingmar.  "I  was  on  my  way  to  Jaffa  to 
fetch  you,  when  I  fell  and  hurt  my  knee,  and  here  I've 
been  sitting  the  whole  night." 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  astounded.  "Were  you  not  at  Jaffa 
in  the  night,  Ingmar  Ingmarsson?" 

"No — only  in  my  dreams.  Whenever  I  dozed  a  little 
I  seemed  to  be  walking  up  and  down  the  streets  of  Jaffa 
searching  for  you."  Mrs.  Gordon  grew  very  thought 
ful,  and  did  not  speak  for  some  moments.  Her  silence 
made  Ingmar  feel  rather  awkward.  He  asked  timidly: 
"Would  you  let  me  ride  back  with  you?  I'm  not  able 
to  walk." 

In  no  time  Mrs.  Gordon  was  out  of  the  carriage  help 
ing  him  into  it,  then  she  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the 
road.  "This  thing  seems  incredible,"  she  murmured. 

Ingmar  had  to  arouse  her  as  it  were  for  the  second 
time.  "Mrs.  Gordon,  I  think  you'd  better  drive  home 
as  quickly  as  possible,"  he  said,  at  which  she  got  back 
into  the  carriage  and  they  drove  on  in  silence.  Ingmar 


258  THE  HOLY  CITY 

spoke  first.  "Please  pardon  me  for  disturbing  you,  Mrs. 
Gordon/'  he  said,  "but  there's  something  I  must  tell 
you. 

"Yesterday  I  overheard  Clifford  talking  to  the  Amer 
ican  Consul.  He  is  up  to  some  mischief,  and  intends  to 
act  while  you  are  away." 

"What  is  this  you  are  telling  me?"  Mrs.  Gordon 
exclaimed. 

"He  means,  if  he  can,  to  break  up  the  colony." 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  at  last  thoroughly  aroused,  and  asked 
Ingmar  to  tell  her  all  that  he  had  heard.  When  he  had 
done  so,  she  sat  for  some  time  deep  in  thought.  Sud 
denly  she  looked  at  him  and  said:  "I'm  very  glad, 
Ingmar  Ingmarsson,  that  you  have  the  welfare  of  the 
colony  so  much  at  heart." 

Ingmar  went  red  in  the  face.  "How  do  you  know  I'm 
a  friend  to  the  colony?" 

"I  know  it  because  you  were  in  Jaffa  last  night,  and 
bade  me  hurry  home."  She  told  him  of  his  appearing 
to  her  in  the  night,  and  what  he  had  said.  Ingmar 
thought  it  the  most  remarkable  thing  he  had  ever  heard. 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  "before  this 
day  is  over  we  shall  have  seen  still  greater  things,  for 
now  I  feel  that  God  is  protecting  us."  She  then  spoke 
to  Ingmar  as  if  no  peril  were  threatening  her  people. 
"Now  tell  me  if  anything  special  has  happened  at  home 
since  I  left.  " 

Ingmar  hesitated,  and  then  began  to  apologize  for  his 
poor  English. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  259 

"Oh,  I  understand  you  quite  well,"  she  assured  him. 

"On  the  whole  things  have  been  going  about  as  usual," 
he  said. 

"But  surely  you  must  have  something  to  relate." 

"Well,  there's  the  matter  of  Baram  Pasha's  mill — but 
perhaps  you've  already  heard  about  it?" 

"I  didn't  even  know  Baram  Pasha  had  a  mill,"  replied 
Mrs.  Gordon. 

"Oh,  yes,"  saicl  Ingmar.  "It  seems  that  soon  after  he 
had  become  Governor  of  Jerusalem  he  found  that  the 
people  had  nothing  but  hand-mills  for  the  grinding  of 
their  corn;  so  he  put  up  a  steam-mill  in  one  of  the  valleys 
hereabout.  It  isn't  surprising  that  you  have  never  heard 
about  the  mill,  for  it  has  seldom  been  in  use.  Baram 
Pasha  has  never  been  able  to  get  good  hands  to  run  it.  A 
few  days  ago  he  sent  to  find  out  if  some  of  the  colonists 
would  not  start  the  mill  for  him.  A  couple  of  us  went  down 
there  and  put  it  to  rights." 

"That  is  good  news,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon.  "I'm  glad 
we  could  do  Baram  Pasha  a  service." 

"He  was  so  pleased  at  this  that  he  offered  to  let  the 
colonists  have  the  mill  rent  free  if  they  would  take  charge 
of  it.  And  he  told  them  that  they  could  have  all  the 
profits  if  they  would  only  keep  it  going." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  turning  quite  around  to 
him,  "what  did  our  people  say  to  that?" 

"The  only  thing  they  could  say  was  that  they  would 
be  glad  to  work  the  mill  for  him,  but  would  take  no  pay 
for  their  labour." 


260  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"That  was  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"I'm  not  so  certain  as  to  its  being  quite  right,  for  now 
Baram  Pasha  won't  let  them  have  the  mill.  He  says 
he  couldn't  think  of  turning  it  over  to  them  if  they  are 
unwilling  to  take  pay  for  their  labour;  that  it  would  never 
do  to  let  the  people  here  get  into  the  way  of  expecting 
everything  for  nothing.  If  he  allowed  that,  others  who 
have  mills  or  sell  flour  would  complain  of  him  to  the 
Sultan." 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  silent. 

"So  nothing  came  of  it,"  Ingmar  told  her.  "Had  your 
colonists  accepted  the  offer,  they  might  at  least  have  earned 
enough  at  the  mill  to  pay  for  their  daily  bread,  and  be 
sides,  it  would  have  been  a  great  blessing  to  the  people 
to  have  had  the  mill  going.  But  that  was  not  to  be 
thought  of." 

Nor  did  Mrs.  Gordon  reply  to  this.  "Has  nothing 
else  happened?"  she  asked,  to  make  Ingmar  change  the 
subject. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied;  "there's  the  matter  of  Miss 
Young  and  the  school.  Haven't  you  heard  about  it?" 

"No." 

"Well,"  said  Ingmar,  "the  other  day  Aschmed  Effendi, 
the  superintendent  of  the  Mohammedan  schools  in  Jeru 
salem,  came  to  us  and  said:  'We  have  in  the  city  a  large 
school  for  girls  where  several  hundred  children  spend  their 
time  fighting  and  shrieking.  The  noises  that  assail 
the  ears  of  passers-by  are  worse  than  the  roar  of  the 
Mediterranean  in  the  harbour  of  Jaffa.  Whether  the 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  261 

teachers  themselves  can  read  and  write  I  don't  know, 
but  I  know  that  they  are  not  teaching  the  children 
anything.  I  cannot  go  to  the  school  myself,  nor  can  I 
send  another  man  to  establish  order  there,  as  it  is  con 
trary  to  the  rules  of  our  religion  for  a  man  to  set  foot  in 
a  girls'  school.  My  only  hope  for  that  school  would  be  to 
have  Miss  Young  manage  it.  I  know  that  she  is  well 
educated,  and  can  speak  Arabic.  As  to  her  salary, 
she  can  have  whatever  she  asks  if  she  will  only  take 
charge  of  the  school." 

"What  was  the  outcome  of  this?"  asked  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"The  same  as  with  the  mill,"  said  Ingmar.  "Miss 
Young  was  quite  willing  to  take  over  the  school,  but  she 
would  not  accept  any  salary.  Then  Aschmed  Effendi 
answered :  '  It  is  my  custom  to  pay  those  who  work  for  me, 
and  I  cannot  accept  favours.'  But  Miss  Young  was  deaf 
to  all  reason;  so  he  had  to  leave  with  the  object  of  his 
visit  unaccomplished.  He  was  highly  offended,  and 
in  a  burst  of  indignation  told  Miss  Young  the  responsi 
bility  was  hers  if  all  these  poor  children  grew  up  undisci 
plined  and  untaught." 

It  was  some  time  before  Mrs.  Gordon  replied.  "I  can 
see,  Ingmar  Ingmarsson,"  she  said  presently,  "that  you 
think  we  acted  unwisely  in  these  instances.  It  is  always 
well  to  hear  the  views  of  a  practical  man,  and  therefore  I 
wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  think  about  our  way 
of  living." 

Ingmar  sat  a  long  moment  considering.  Mrs.  Gordon 
was  a  person  of  such  great  dignity  that  it  was  not  an  easy 


262  THE  HOLY  CITY 

matter  for  him  to  criticise  her  methods.  He  said  at 
length:  "I  don't  see  why  the  colonists  need  live  in  such 
poverty." 

"How  can  we  consistently  do  otherwise?"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon  with  a  smile. 

Ingmar  was  even  longer  replying  to  this.  "If  you 
allowed  your  people  to  accept  pay  for  their  labour,"  he 
said,  "they  wouldn't  get  into  such  straits  as  they  do 


now." 


Mrs.  Gordon  turned  to  him  in  amazement:  "For 
fully  sixteen  years  I  have  conducted  the  affairs  of  the 
colony  in  a  way  that  has  made  it  possible  for  us  to  dwell 
together  in  concord  and  brotherly  love;  therefore  it 
seems  to  me  that  a  newcomer  like  you  would  hardly 
understand  the  conditions  here  well  enough  to  warrant 
your  suggesting  any  radical  changes." 

"Now,  I've  offended  you,"  said  Ingmar;  "but  it  was 
you  yourself  made  me  talk." 

"Oh,  I  understand  how  you  meant  it.  For  your  infor 
mation  I  must  say  that  we  have  still  considerable  capital 
to  draw  upon.  But  lately  some  one  has  been  sending 
false  reports  about  us  to  our  bankers  in  America  and, 
as  a  result,  we  have  not  received  any  remittances  for 
several  months.  However,  I  know  that  we  will  soon 
have  enough  for  our  needs." 

"I'm  glad  to  know  that,"  Ingmar  replied.  "At  home 
with  us  we  hold  that  it  is  better  for  people  to  live  by  their 
own  work  than  upon  the  savings  of  others."  Ingmar 
felt  that  he  had  said  quite  enough. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  263 

Mrs.  Gordon  reached  the  colony  at  an  early  hour. 
During  the  latter  part  of  the  drive  she  had  felt  uneasy, 
and  wondered  what  she  would  have  to  meet  upon  her 
arrival.  When  she  came  within  sight  of  the  house, 
and  saw  that  everything  thereabout  was  apparently  as 
usual,  she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  was  almost  as  if  she 
had  expected  that  one  of  the  powerful  spirits  that  figure 
so  prominently  in  Eastern  tales  had  spirited  away  the 
whole  colony. 

Coming  nearer,  they  heard  singing.  "So  far  every 
thing  seems  to  be  all  right  here,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon.  "The 
brethren  are  now  at  morning  prayers." 

She  had  a  key  to  a  side  gate,  and  went  in  that  way  so 
as  not  to  disturb  any  one.  Ingmar  could  scarcely  walk; 
his  knee  had  become  quite  stiff.  Mrs.  Gordon  supported 
him  with  her  arm,  and  helped  him  into  the  inner  court 
yard,  where  he  sank  down  on  a  bench. 

"You'd  better  go  right  in,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  told  her, 
"and  find  out  if  all's  well  with  the  colony." 

"But  first  of  all  I  must  bandage  your  knee,"  she  said. 
"There's  plenty  of  time;  you  can  hear  they  are  still 
at  morning  prayers." 

"Please  listen  to  me,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  urged  Ingmar. 
"You  must  go  in  at  once,  to  see  if  anything  has  happened." 

Ingmar  sat  watching  her  as  she  went  up  the  steps  and 
across  the  open  hall  to  the  meeting-room,  and  as  she 
opened  the  door  he  heard  someone  inside  speaking  in 
a  loud  voice.  The  speaker,  whoever  he  was,  stopped 
abruptly,  then  the  door  closed,  and  all  was  quiet. 


264  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Ingmar  had  not  been  sitting  there  many  moments, 
when  the  door  of  the  meeting-room  was  thrown  wide 
open  and  four  men  came  out  carrying  a  fifth  between 
them.  They  went  quietly  down  the  steps  and  across 
the  courtyard.  As  they  were  passing  close  by  Ingmar, 
he  bent  forward  to  see  whom  they  were  carrying. 
It  was  Clifford!  "Where  are  you  taking  him?"  he 
asked. 

"Down  to  the  mortuary,"  replied  the  men,  stopping; 
"he  is  dead." 

Ingmar  sprang  up  aghast.     "How  did  he  die?" 

"No  human  hand  has  touched  him,"  said  Ljung  Bjorn, 
who  was  one  of  the  men. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  Ingmar  then  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  happened,"  said  Ljung  Bjorn. 
"After  morning  prayers  this  man  Clifford  rose  up  to 
speak.  He  said  he  had  something  to  tell  us,  which 
he  thought  we  would  be  pleased  to  hear.  This  was  as 
far  as  he  got,  when  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Gordon 
came  in.  At  sight  of  her  he  stopped  short,  and  turned 
white  as  a  sheet.  At  first  he  stood  quite  still,  but  as 
Mrs.  Gordon  walked  toward  him,  he  drew  back  a  step  or 
two,  and  put  his  arm  up  to  his  face.  The  whole  proceed 
ing  looked  so  strange  to  us,  that  we  all  stood  up  at  once. 
Then  Clifford  tried  to  pull  himself  together.  He  clenched 
his  hands  and  breathed  hard,  like  one  fighting  against 
a  terrible  fear,  and  went  to  meet  Mrs.  Gordon.  'How 
did  you  get  here?'  he  said  in  a  shaking  voice.  'By  the 
grace  of  God,'  she  replied,  fixing  him  with  a  calm,  grave 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  265 

gaze.  'I  know  it,'  he  said,  his  eyes  bulging  with  fear. 
*I  see  who  is  behind  you.'  'And  I  see  who  is  behind 
you,'  Mrs  Gordon  then  said.  'It  is  Satan.'  He  again 
shrank  back,  holding  his  arm  before  his  face,  as  if  he  could 
not  bear  her  gaze.  Mrs.  Gordon  advancing  stretched 
forth  her  hand,  but  did  not  approach  near  enough  to 
touch  him.  'I  see  that  Satan  is  behind  you,'  she  re 
peated,  and  her  voice  sounded  loud  and  awful.  Then 
we  all  seemed  to  see  Satan  standing  back  of  Clifford, 
and  pointed  at  that  which  we  thought  we  saw, 
shouting  'Satan,  Satan.'  Cowering,  he  made  his  way 
down  to  the  door,  and,  as  he  was  about  to  open  it,  we 
again  cried  'Satan!  Satan!'  Then  with  an  unearthly 
groan,  he  sank  to  the  floor.  We  rushed  forward  to  help 
him  up,  but  the  moment  we  touched  him  we  knew  he 
was  dead." 

"He  was  a  traitor,"  Ingmar  told  them,  "and  de 
served  his  fate." 

"But  what  had  he  meant  to  do  to  us?"  asked  one  of 
the  men. 

"That  no  one  knows,"  said  another.  "Perhaps  he 
wanted  to  wreck  the  colony." 

"Yes— but  how?" 

"No  one  knows." 

"And  I  suppose  no  one  will  ever  know." 

The  colonists  were  much  perturbed;  none  of  them  knew 
what  Clifford  had  meant  to  do,  or  if  the  danger  had  been 
averted  by  his  death.  Hour  after  hour  they  spent  in 
the  meeting-room  in  prayer  and  the  singing  of  hymns. 


266  THE  HOLY  CITY 

They  seemed  far  removed  from  this  world  by  the  thought 
that  God  was  with  them. 

Now  and  then  in  the  course  of  the  day  crowds  com 
posed  of  the  worst  element  to  be  found  in  Jerusalem 
gathered  in  the  barren  fields  surrounding  the  colony,  and 
stood  watching  the  house.  From  this  the  brethren 
inferred  that  Clifford  had  planned  to  have  this  rabble 
storm  the  house  and  drive  them  from  their  home.  But 
the  crowds  finally  dispersed,  and  the  day  passed  without 
further  untoward  occurrence. 

In  the  evening  when  Mrs.  Gordon  came  to  see  Ingmar 
Ingmarsson  she  found  him  sitting  on  his  bed,  his  knee 
properly  bandaged.  She  thanked  him  warmly  for  the 
great  service  he  had  rendered  the  colony  and  said  among 
other  things  that  if  there  was  anything  she  could  do 
for  him  in  return,  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  her.  "Won't 
you  tell  me  what  you  have  most  at  heart,  that  I  may 
help  you?" 

Mrs.  Gordon  knew  of  course  why  Ingmar  had  come 
to  Jerusalem  and  under  ordinary  circumstances  she 
would  not  have  thought  of  offering  to  aid  him  in  a  matter 
of  that  kind,  but  now  she,  as  well  as  everyone  else  in 
the  colony,  was  carried  away  by  her  feelings.  There  was 
nothing  she  wished  for  so  much  as  to  see  Ingmar  happy, 
after  what  he  had  done  for  her  and  her  people. 

Ingmar  closed  his  eyes,  and  reflected  a  good  while  before 
venturing  to  speak.  "You  must  promise  not  to  take  ex 
ception  to  what  Fm  about  to  ask  of  you,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Gordon  promised  to  be  indulgent. 


A  TIME  OF  STRESS  267 

"It  looks  as  if  the  matter  I  came  over  for  was  likely 
to  keep  me  here  a  long  while,"  said  Ingmar;  "and 
time  will  hang  heavily  on  my  hands  unless  I  have  some 
work  of  the  kind  to  which  I  am  accustomed.  If  you 
want  to  do  me  a  real  service,  Mrs.  Gordon,  I  wish  you 
would  get  Baram  Pasha  to  let  me  take  over  his  mill. 
You  know  that  I  have  no  scruples  against  earning  money, 
as  your  people  have,  and  besides  it's  the  sort  of  work 
Hike." 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  at  Ingmar  wonderingly.  His 
eyes  were  half  closed,  and  his  face  quite  impassive.  She 
was  surprised  that  he  had  not  asked  for  something  else, 
but  at  the  same  time  she  was  glad  he  had  not. 

"I  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  arrange  to  do  this  for 
you,"  she  said.  "There  would  be  nothing  wrong  in  that, 
surely,  and  besides,  it  would  afford  us  an  opportunity 
to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  Baram  Pasha." 

"I  thought  you  would  help  me,"  said  Ingmar,  thank 
ing  her,  and  they  parted,  much  pleased  with  each  other. 


INGMAR'S  FIGHT 


INGMAR'S  FIGHT 

INGMAR  had  taken  over  Baram  Pasha's  mill  and  was 
himself  the  miller;  first  one  and  then  another  of  the 
colonists  came  to  help  him  with  the  work. 

Now  every  miller  knows  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
magic  about  a  mill,  and  the  colonists  soon  found  that 
they  could  not  sit  for  a  whole  day  listening  to  the  hum 
of  the  mill-stones  without  becoming,  as  it  were,  bewitched. 
After  a  while  it  dawns  upon  those  who  listen  that  the 
mill  stones  hum:  "We  grind  corn,  we  earn  money, 
we  do  good;  but  what  do  you  do?  what  do  you  do?" 

And  within  him  who  hears  this  there  springs  up  an  ir 
resistible  desire  to  earn  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his 
brow.  A  veritable  fever  comes  upon  one  who  sits  listen 
ing  to  the  music  of  the  mill.  He  will  inevitably  begin 
to  wonder  what  he  is  fitted  for,  what  he  can  do — whether 
there  is  any  way  in  which  he  could  be  helpful  to  the 
community. 

Those  who  had  worked  at  the  mill  for  a  few  days 
talked  of  nothing  but  the  arable  valleys  of  this  land  that 
were  lying  waste,  of  the  many  hillsides  that  ought  to  be 
planted  with  forest-trees,  and  the  neglected  vineyards 
that  cried  out  for  labourers. 

When  the  millstones  had  been  singing  their  song  for 

some  weeks  there  came  a  day  when  the  Swedish  peasants 

271 


272  THE  HOLY  CITY 

rented  a  piece  of  land  on  the  Plain  of  Sharon,  and  began 
to  plow  and  sow.  Shortly  afterwards  they  rented  a 
couple  of  large  vineyards  on  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Later 
they  set  to  work  laying  conduit-pipes  in  one  of  the 
valleys. 

Once  the  Swedes  had  made  a  beginning  the  Americans 
and  the  Syrians  followed  suit.  They  began  teaching 
in  the  schools;  they  procured  a  camera  and  went  about 
the  country  taking  photographs,  which  they  sold  to  tour 
ists,  and  they  set  up  a  little  goldsmith's  workshop  in  a 
corner  of  the  colony. 

Miss  Young  was  now  the  principal  of  Aschmed  Ef- 
fendi's  school,  and  young  Swedish  girls  taught  Moham 
medan  children  sewing  and  knitting. 

By  autumn  the  whole  colony  was  alive  with  the  spirit 
of  enterprise  and  activity;  it  had  become  a  veritable  ant 
hill  of  industry. 

And  come  to  think  of  it,  there  had  been  no  distress 
among  the  brethren  the  whole  summer,  not  one  of  them 
had  died  since  the  day  Ingmar  took  over  the  mill.  Nor 
had  anyone  fretted  himself  insane  over  the  evils  of  Jeru 
salem. 

The  brethren  were  now  very  happy  and  they  loved 
their  colony  more  than  ever.  They  planned  and  carried 
out  new  undertakings,  and  all  felt  it  was  God's  will  that 
they  should  earn  their  bread  by  their  own  labour. 

In  the  autumn  Ingmar  put  Ljung  Bjorn  in  charge 
of  the  mill  while  he  himself  remained  at  home  in  the 
colony.  He  and  Gabriel  and  Bo  were  busy  building 


INGMAR'S  FIGHT  273 

some  kind  of  a  shed  in  the  field  just  outside.  No  one 
knew  for  what  purpose  the  shed  was  to  be  used,  nor  was 
anyone  allowed  to  see  how  they  were  fitting  it  up — that 
was  a  great  secret. 

When  the  shed  was  at  length  finished,  Ingmar  and 
Bo  went  down  to  Jaffa  on  a  business  errand.  In  a  day 
or  two  they  came  back,  each  riding  a  fine  chestnut  horse. 
These  horses  were  to  be  the  colonists'  very  own.  Had 
a  sultan  and  a  king  knocked  at  the  gate  and  declared  they 
had  come  to  join  the  colonists,  they  would  not  have 
received  a  more  hearty  welcome  than  was  given  to  Ing- 
mar  and  Bjorn  as  they  rode  in  through  the  gate. 

And  the  children,  how  they  hung  about  those  horses! 
and  how  proud  the  peasant  who  was  to  drive  them  before 
the  plow!  No  two  horses  in  all  the  East  were  so  well 
cared  for,  and  no  night  passed  that  some  of  the  brethren 
did  not  go  out  to  the  barn  to  see  that  the  mangers  were 
well  filled. 

And  the  Swede,  whoever  it  chanced  to  be,  that  in  the 
morning  harnessed  the  horses,  could  not  help  thinking  to 
himself:  "After  all,  this  is  a  pretty  good  land  to  live  in; 
I'm  really  beginning  to  feel  contented  here.  What  a 
pity  Tims  Halvor  could  not  have  lived  to  see  all  this! 
He  would  never  have  grieved  himself  to  death  if  he'd 
had  a  pair  of  horses  like  these  to  drive." 

Early  one  morning  in  September,  while  it  was  still 
dark,  Ingmar  and  Bo  left  the  colony  to  go  to  work  in  one 
of  the  vineyards  on  the  Mount  of  Olives.  They  did  not 
get  on  well  with  each  other.  There  was  no  open  quarrel 


274  THE  HOLY  CITY 

between  them,  but  they  were  never  of  the  same  mind 
about  anything.  Suddenly  they  fell  to  disputing  over 
which  way  they  should  go.  Bo  wanted  to  take  the 
roundabout  way,  across  the  hills,  saying  it  was  easier 
walking  there  in  the  dark.  Ingmar  preferred  the  shorter 
but  more  difficult  road,  which  went  through  the  Valley 
of  Jehoshaphat  and  then  straight  up  the  mountain. 

When  they  had  wasted  some  time  discussing  this,  Ing- 
mar  proposed  that  they  each  go  their  own  way,  to  see 
which  could  get  there  first.  This  was  agreeable  to  Bo,  so 
they  finally  set  off. 

As  soon  as  they  parted  company  Ingmar  was  seized 
with  the  old  fears  and  longings  that  always  came  over 
him  now  when  he  happened  to  be  by  himself.  Would 
our  Lord  never  take  pity  on  him,  and  let  him  go  home? 
Would  He  never  help  him  get  Gertrude  away  from  Jeru 
salem  before  she  was  quite  out  of  her  mind?  "It  seems 
strange  that  I  should  have  made  least  headway  in  the 
matter  for  which  I  am  here,"  he  muttered  as  he  walked 
along  in  the  dark.  "But  in  everything  else  I  have  suc 
ceeded  far  beyond  my  expectations.  I  hardly  think  the 
colonists  would  have  gone  in  for  productive  work  if  I 
had  not  hit  upon  the  happy  thought  of  taking  over  the 
mill.  It  has  been  very  gratifying  to  note  the  zest  for 
work  that  has  come  to  them  lately.  I  have  seen  much 
that  is  good  here,  and  learned  many  things;  but  just 
the  same  I  can't  help  longing  for  home.  This  city  fills 
me  with  dread  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  breathe  freely 
until  I'm  well  out  of  it.  Sometimes  I  have  a  feeling  that 


INGMAR'S   FIGHT  275 

I  shall  die  here;  that  I  shall  never  go  back,  never  again 
see  Barbro  or  the  old  home." 

He  mused  thus  until  he  presently  found  himself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valley.  High  above  him  the  battlements 
of  the  city  walls  were  outlined  against  the  dark  sky,  and 
on  all  sides  he  was  shut  in  by  great  obstructing  heights. 

"This  is  a  dismal  place  to  be  wandering  through  in  the 
dark,"  thought  he,  suddenly  remembering  that  he 
would  have  to  pass  both  the  Mohammedan  and  the  Jew 
ish  cemeteries. 

Then  he  called  to  mind  something  he  had  heard  the 
previous  day,  but  which  at  the  time  had  not  impressed 
him  as  being  anything  more  than  the  usual  tales  one 
hears  about  the  Holy  City.  Now,  in  the  deep  darkness, 
it  struck  him  as  a  weird  and  horrible  tale. 

In  the  Jewish  quarter  there  is  a  little  hospital  known 
throughout  the  city  as  a  place  where  they  never  have 
any  patients.  Ingmar  had  passed  it  any  number  of 
times;  he  had  looked  in  at  the  windows,  and  seen  only 
unoccupied  beds.  The  reason  of  this  was  obvious 
enough.  The  hospital  had  been  founded  by  an  English 
missionary  society  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  Jewish 
patients,  in  order  to  convert  them  to  Christianity;  but 
the  Jews,  fearing  that  in  a  place  of  that  sort  they  might 
have  to  eat  unclean  food,  refused  to  be  treated  there. 

But  recently  they  had  a  patient  at  this  hospital.  It 
was  a  poor  old  Jewess,  who  had  fallen  in  the  street  just 
outside  the  hospital,  and  broken  her  leg.  She  had  been 


276  THE  HOLY  CITY 

carried  in  and  treated  there,  but  had  died  a  few  days 
afterwards. 

Before  the  end  came,  she  made  the  English  nurses  and 
the  doctor  solemnly  promise  to  have  her  buried  in  the 
Jewish  cemetery  in  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat.  She  told 
them  that,  at  her  advanced  age,  she  had  journeyed  to 
Jerusalem  solely  to  be  granted  this  boon,  and  if  they 
could  not  promise  her  that,  they  might  better  have  let 
her  die  in  the  street. 

The  English  notified  the  head  official  of  the  Jewish 
community  of  her  death,  requesting  him  to  send  some  of 
their  people  to  take  away  the  body  and  bury  it. 

To  which  the  Jews  replied,  that  the  old  woman  having 
died  in  a  Christian  hospital  could  not  be  buried  in  the 
Jewish  cemetery. 

The  missionaries  did  all  in  their  power  to  persuade 
the  Jews;  they  even  appealed  to  the  Chief  Rabbi,  but 
all  in  vain.  Then  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do 
but  to  bury  the  body  themselves.  They  were  determined 
that  the  one  wish  of  the  poor  old  woman's  life  should  be 
carried  out.  Paying  no  heed  to  the  objections  of  the 
Jews,  they  had  a  grave  dug  in  the  cemetery  in  the  Valley 
of  Jehoshaphat,  and  buried  her  there.. 

The  Jews  made  no  effort  to  stop  them,  but  the  follow 
ing  night  they  opened  the  grave  and  took  out  the  coffin. 

The  English  were  bound  to  keep  their  word  to  the 
old  woman.  When  they  found  that  she  had  been  thrown 
out  of  her  grave,  they  put  her  back  into  it.  The  next 
night,  however,  she  was  dug  up  again. 


INGMAR'S  FIGHT  277 

Ingmar  Ingmarsson  suddenly  stood  still  in  the  road, 
and  listened.  "Who  knows? — perhaps  those  fiends  have 
been  at  it  to-night,  too." 

At  first  all  seemed  to  be  quiet,  but  presently  he  heard 
a  sharp  noise,  such  as  is  produced  by  the  striking  of  an 
iron  implement  against  stone.  He  hurriedly  took  a  few 
steps  in  the  direction  whence  the  sound  came,  then 
stopped  again  to  listen.  Now  he  could  distinctly  hear  that 
someone  was  plying  a  spade  and  heaving  stones  and 
gravel.  He  walked  on  a  bit  and  heard  more  digging. 
"There  are  at  least  five  or  six  men  at  work,"  he  thought. 
"Good  God!  how  can  people  treat  the  dead  like  that?" 

As  Ingmar  listened  a  feeling  of  wrathful  indignation 
kindled  in  him,  which  grew  stronger  every  second.  "This 
is  no  concern  of  yours,"  he  said  to  calm  himself.  "You've 
got  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it."  But  the  blood 
leaped  to  his  head,  and  his  throat  tightened  so  that  he 
could  scarcely  draw  his  breath.  "This  is  monstrous!"  he 
cried.  "Nothing  could  be  worse."  Standing  stock-still,  he 
raised  his  clenched  fist  and  shook  it  threateningly.  "You 
vile  sneaks!"  he  hissed.  "Just  wait  till  I  get  at  you! 

"I've  had  enough  of  this  and  no  one  need  expect  me 
to  pass  quietly  by  and  let  you  desecrate  the  dead." 

So  saying,  he  hastened  toward  the  cemetery  with  quick, 
noiseless  steps.  He  felt  almost  light-hearted.  "I  sup 
pose  this  is  sheer  madness,"  he  told  himself;  "but  I 
wonder  what  my  father  would  have  done  if  something 
had  tried  to  hold  him  back  the  day  he  rushed  into  the 
river  to  save  the  little  children?  I  must  do  as  father 


278  THE  HOLY  CITY 

once  did,  for  a  river  of  evil  rages  here,  that  carries  away 
both  the  living  and  the  dead.  I  can  no  longer  stand 
quietly  watching  it  from  the  shore,  but  must  plunge  in 
and  buck  against  the  stream." 

Ingmar  stood  at  the  edge  of  a  grave  where  some  men 
were  digging  under  the  cover  of  darkness.  He  did  not 
know  how  many  there  were,  nor  did  he  care;  he  rushed 
right  in  among  them,  snatching  a  spade  from  one  and 
striking  out  with  it  to  right  and  left.  He  had  come  so 
suddenly  upon  the  men  that  he  nearly  frightened  them 
out  of  their  senses.  They  ran  away  without  even  trying 
to  fight  back,  and  Ingmar  was  soon  standing  there  alone. 

His  first  work  was  to  fill  in  the  grave;  then  he  began 
to  consider  what  was  to  be  done  next.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  he  had  better  remain  on  guard  until  daybreak. 
"If  I  leave  now  those  wretches  will  surely  come  back," 
thought  he. 

He  stood  on  the  grave  and  waited,  straining  his  ears 
at  the  least  little  sound.  "I  don't  think  they  can  have 
run  very  far  just  for  one  man."  Presently  he  saw  some 
dark  figures  stealthily  creeping  toward  him.  "Now 
they  mean  business,"  thought  Ingmar,  quickly  raising  his 
spade  to  ward  off"  possible  attack.  All  at  once  a  hail  of 
stones,  large  and  small,  broke  over  him.  Immediately 
several  men  set  upon  him,  and  tried  to  knock  him  down. 

A  terrible  struggle  ensued.  Ingmar  had  the  strength 
of  a  giant,  and  threw  down  his  assailants,  one  after  the 
other,  but  they  scrambled  to  their  feet  and  went  at  him 
again.  In  the  scuffle,  one  of  the  men  fell  just  in  front  of 


INGMAR'S  FIGHT  279 

him  as  he  was  advancing,  and  Ingmar,  stumbling  over 
the  man,  fell  heavily.  Instantly  he  struck  the  ground 
he  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  one  eye,  which  stunned  him.  He 
had  a  vague  consciousness  of  the  men  throwing  them 
selves  upon  him  and  binding  him,  but  he  was  unable 
to  make  resistance;  the  pain  in  the  eye  was  so  acute 
that  it  rendered  him  powerless,  and  he  thought  for  a 
moment  that  he  was  dying. 

Bo  had  been  thinking  of  Ingmar  ever  since  the  two 
had  parted  company.  He  had  set  off  at  a  brisk  gait  in  his 
eagerness  to  be  the  first  at  the  mountain  vineyard,  but  he 
had  not  walked  many  minutes  before  he  slackened  his 
pace.  "I  know  that  however  much  I  may  hurry,  Ingmar 
will  be  sure  to  arrive  ahead  of  me."  he  said,  with  a  depre 
cating  little  laugh.  "I've  never  seen  anyone  who  has 
such  luck  in  everything  he  puts  his  mind  to,  or  one  so 
well  able  to  work  his  own  will.  I  expect  it  will  end  in 
his  taking  Gertrude  back  to  Dalecarlia.  Haven't  I  seen 
how  he  has  been  running  the  colony  for  the  past  six 
months?  Everything  has  gone  just  as  he  wished." 

But  when  Bo  arrived  at  the  meeting-place  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives  and  did  not  find  Ingmar  there,  he  was 
well  pleased.  He  straightway  set  to  work  and  con 
tinued  at  it  for  some  little  time.  "  For  once  in  his  life  he 
will  find  that  his  way  was  not  the  best  one,"  thought  Bo. 

When  it  began  to  grow  light  and  Ingmar  had  not  yet 
put  in  an  appearance,  Bo  became  uneasy  and  wondered 
what  could  have  happened  him.  He  left  off  working  and 


28o  THE  HOLY  CITY 

went  down  the  mountain  side  to  look  for  him.  "It's 
strange  about  Ingmar,"  thought  Bo;  "although  I  have 
reason  enough  not  to  like  him,  I  should  be  very  sorry  if 
he  came  to  any  harm.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  has  done 
great  things  for  us  all  out  here.  If  Gertrude  had  not 
come  between  us,  I  think  we  could  be  the  best  of  friends." 

When  Bo  came  down  into  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat 
he  found  Ingmar  lying  between  two  gravestones. 

Ingmar  hearing  Bo's  heavy  footsteps  raised  his  head  a 
little.  "Is  that  you,  Bo?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Bo;  "but  why  are  you  lying  here?"  Just 
then  he  noticed  Ingmar Js  face,  and  saw  that  both  his  eyes 
were  closed  and  that  one  eye  was  badly  swollen  and  bleed 
ing.  "Why,  man!  what  have  you  done  to  yourself?" 

"I've  been  fighting  those  grave-openers.  I  stumbled 
over  one  fellow  who  had  a  knife  in  his  hand  that  must 
have  caught  me  right  in  the  eye." 

Bo  was  on  his  knees  in  an  instant,  untying  Ingmar's 
hands.  "How  did  you  come  to  fight  with  them?" 

"I  heard  them  digging  as  I  was  walking  along  the  road." 

"And  you  wouldn't  allow  them  to  turn  the  old  woman 
out  of  her  grave  again  ? " 

"No,"  said  Ingmar,  "I  couldn't  let  that  happen." 

"It  was  mighty  courageous  of  you,"  said  Bo. 

"Oh,  no,"  Ingmar  returned,  "it  was  only  stupid  of  me; 
but  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"Stupid  or  not,"  said  Bo,  "I  want  you  to  know  that  be 
cause  you've  done  this  thing  I'm  your  friend  from  this 
time  forth." 


ON  THE  MOUNT  OF  OLIVES 


ON  THE  MOUNT  OF  OLIVES 

INGMAR   was   attended   by   a   physician    from   the 
English  Ophthalmic  Hospital  who  came  out  to  the 
colony  every  day  to  dress  the  injured  eye.     The 
wound  healed  quickly  and  Ingmar  was  soon  able  to  leave 
his  bed. 

On  one  of  his  visits  the  doctor  noticed  that  the  sound  eye 
was  much  inflamed.  He  looked  concerned,  and  after  giving 
orders  as  to  how  it  should  be  treated,  he  advised  Ingmar 
to  leave  Palestine  as  soon  as  possible.  "I  am  afraid 
that  you  have  a  touch  of  the  dangerous  Oriental  eye 
disease.  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you,  but  your  sound  eye 
in  its  present  condition  is  very  susceptible  to  the  infec 
tion,  which  is  in  the  very  air  out  here.  If  you  remain 
you  are  likely  to  become  blind  within  a  few  weeks." 

This  was  sorrowful  news  to  the  colonists,  not  only  to 
Ingmar's  relatives,  but  to  all.  Everyone  felt  that  Ing 
mar  had  rendered  them  incalculable  service  in  persuading 
them  to  earn  their  bread  by  their  labour,  like  other  people, 
and  that  the  colony  could  ill  afford  to  lose  so  valuable 
a  friend.  Nevertheless  they  thought  it  best  for  Ingmar 
to  go  back.  Mrs.  Gordon  said  that  she  would  have  one 
of  the  brethren  accompany  him,  as  he  was  not  able  now 
to  travel  alone. 

283 


284  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Ingmar  listened  for  a  while  in  silence  to  all  this  talk 
about  sending  him  home.  At  length  he  said:  "I'm  not 
so  sure  that  I  shall  go  blind  if  I  stay." 

Mrs.  Gordon  then  asked  him  what  he  proposed  to  do. 

"I've  not  finished  with  that  for  which  I  came  out 
here,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to  remain?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Ingmar.  "I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
to  go  back  with  my  errand  unaccomplished." 

Mrs.  Gordon  now  gave  evidence  of  her  high  esteem 
for  Ingmar.  She  went  straight  to  Gertrude  and  told  her 
that  he  was  determined  to  stay  even  at  the  risk  of  losing 
his  eyesight.  "I  suppose  you  know  on  whose  account 
he  insists  upon  remaining?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gertrude,  looking  wide-eyed  at  Mrs.  Gor 
don,  who  said  nothing  further.  She  could  not  in  so 
many  words  importune  the  girl  to  break  an  established 
rule  of  the  colony,  but  Gertrude  understood  at  once  that 
anything  she  might  do  for  Ingmar's  sake  would  be  ap 
proved.  "If  it  were  anybody  else,  Mrs.  Gordon  would 
not  be  so  ready  to  oblige,"  she  thought,  feeling  a  little 
hurt.  "But  as  they  all  seem  to  think  that  Pm  not 
quite  right,  I  suppose  they'd  like  to  be  rid  of  me." 

All  day  long,  one  after  another  the  brethren  kept 
coming  to  Gertrude  and  talking  of  Ingmar,  but  no  one  had 
the  temerity  to  tell  her  plainly  that  she  ought  to  go  home 
with  him.  The  Swedish  peasants,  in  turn,  sat  down 
beside  her  and  spoke  of  the  hero  who  had  fought  for  the 
dead  in  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  reminding  her  that 


ON  THE  MOUNT  OF  OLIVES  285 

Ingmar  had  now  shown  that  he  was  a  true  son  of  his 
father.  "It  would  be  a  great  pity/'  they  said,  "if  such 
a  man  were  to  go  blind." 

Gabriel  said  to  her:  "I  saw  him  the  day  of  the  auction 
at  Ingmar  Farm,  and  let  me  tell  you  that  had  you  seen  him 
then,  you  would  have  forgiven  him  anything." 

Gertrude  felt  as  if  she  were  having  one  of  those  dreams 
wherein  one  seems  to  be  striving  to  hurry  and  yet  cannot 
move  a  step.  She  wanted  to  help  Ingmar,  but  seemed 
powerless  to  do  so.  "How  can  I,"  she  asked  herself, 
"when  I  no  longer  love  him?  Yet  how  can  I  help  it 
when  I  know  he'll  go  blind  if  I  don't?" 

That  evening  as  she  stood  under  the  great  sycamore 
tree  thinking  that  she  really  ought  to  go  back  with  Ingmar, 
though  unable  to  make  up  her  mind,  Bo  came  up. 

"It  is  sometimes  the  case,"  he  said,  "that  one  can 
be  glad  for  one's  misfortune,  and  grieve  over  one's  good 
fortune." 

Gertrude  looked  at  Bo  with  frightened*  eyes.  She  did 
not  speak,  but  he  knew  she  was  thinking,  "Are  you 
also  going  to  harass  and  torment  me?" 

Bo  winced  a  little,  but  in  a  moment  he  said  what  he 
had  come  to  say:  "When  you  have  loved  some  girl  all 
your  life,  you  are  naturally  afraid  of  losing  her.  But  to 
find  her  so  hard  that  she  will  neither  forgive  nor  forget 
is  the  worst  that  could  happen." 

Bo  said  this  so  tenderly  that  Gertrude,  instead  of  re 
senting  it,  began  to  cry.  Then  flashed  the  memory  of  a 
dream  she  once  had,  in  which  she  had  put  out  Ingmar's 


286  THE  HOLY  CITY 

eyes.  "That  dream  seems  to  be  coming  true,"  she 
thought,  "and  I  am  really  as  wicked  and  cruel  as  I  was 
in  the  dream.  Ingmar  will  surely  become  blind,  and  all 
because  of  me."  She  was  heartsick  at  the  thought  of 
her  utter  helplessness.  Night  came  and  found  her  still 
undecided. 

At  dawn  she  arose  and  went  as  usual  to  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  The  whole  way  she  struggled  to  break  the  spell 
that  bound  her,  but  her  will  was  as  if  paralyzed.  She 
had  once  seen  a  fallen  house-swallow  beating  its  wings 
against  the  earth,  unable  to  get  enough  wind  under  them 
to  rise  and  fly  away.  So  she,  too,  seemed  to  be  fluttering 
helplessly. 

When  she  was  at  last  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  stand 
ing  in  the  place  where  it  was  her  habit  to  watch  the  sun 
rise,  she  saw  the  dervish  whom  she  had  thought  was  the 
Christ  sitting  on  the  ground  with  his  legs  crossed  under 
him,  his  face  turned  toward  Jerusalem. 

Gertrude  did  not  for  a  moment  forget  that  the  man 
was  but  a  poor  dervish,  whose  sole  claim  to  greatness  lay 
in  his  power  to  make  his  followers  dance  harder  than  those 
of  other  dervishes.  A  tremor  of  pity  passed  through  her 
as  she  noted  the  dark  shadows  under  his  eyes  and  the 
lines  of  anguish  about  his  mouth.  She  stood  with  folded 
hands  looking  at  him.  She  was  not  dreaming  now, 
nor  was  she  in  a  trance.  It  was  simply  this:  The  man's 
marvellous  likeness  to  the  pictured  Christ  made  her  feel 
as  though  she  were  in  the  presence  of  one  endowed  with 
the  attributes  of  Divinity. 


ON  THE  MOUNT  OF  OLIVES  287 

Again  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  but  to  reveal  him 
self  to  mankind,  and  it  would  be  made  manifest  that 
he  had  fathomed  the  depths  of  all  wisdom.  She  believed 
that  the  winds  and  waves  were  subject  to  his  bidding; 
that  he  talked  face  to  face  with  God;  that  his  thoughts 
were  of  unseen  things,  of  which  none  other  knew.  Had 
she  been  ill,  she  thought,  she  would  have  been  healed 
merely  by  looking  upon  him. 

"He  cannot  be  an  ordinary  mortal,  for,  beholding  him, 
I  feel  the  bliss  of  Heaven  descend  upon  me." 

For  some  moments  the  dervish  seemed  oblivious  to  her 
nearness.  Suddenly  he  turned  and  looked  straight  at  her, 
regarding  her  long  and  intently,  then  he  put  forth  his 
hand  for  her  to  kiss.  With  deep  humility,  she  knelt  and 
pressed  her  lips  against  his  hand.  Whereupon  the  der 
vish,  with  benign  dignity,  signed  to  her  to  leave  hjm  to 
his  meditations.  Gertrude  obediently  rose  and  walked 
away. 

She  felt  that  there  was  a  deep  significance  in  his  manner 
of  dismissing  her.  It  was  as  though  he  had  said:  "Thou 
hast  been  mine  for  a  space  and  served  me,  but  now  thou 
art  free.  Go  live  for  thy  fellowmen." 

As  she  neared  the  colony  her  blissful  illusion  faded. 
She  knew  of  course  that  he  was  not  the  Christ,  but  see 
ing  him  again  had  wrought  a  great  change  in  her.  Be 
cause  he  had  appeared  to  her  eyes  as  the  Divine  Embodi 
ment,  the  very  stones  along  the  way  seemed  to  echo  the 
precepts  the  Redeemer  Himself  once  taught  in  this 
place. 


288  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Immediately  upon  her  return  she  went  to  see  Ingmar. 
"I  will  go  back  with  you,  Ingmar,"  she  said. 

Ingmar  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  if  a  great  weight  had 
been  lifted  from  his  heart.  He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and 
pressed  them  gently.  "God  has  been  good  to  me,"  he 
said. 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY" 

THERE  was  a  hustle  and  bustle  in  the  colony.  The 
Dalecarlians  were  so  busy,  each  on  his  own  ac 
count,  that  they  had  no  time  for  their  regular  work 
in  field  and  vineyard.  The  Swedish  children  had  been 
excused  from  school  that  they  might  stay  at  home  and 
help  their  elders. 

Ingmar  and  Gertrude  were  to  leave  for  Sweden  within 
two  days,  which  meant  hurriedly  getting  ready  the  things 
one  wanted  to  send  by  them  to  friends  at  home. 

Here  at  last  was  an  opportunity  to  send  some  little 
remembrance  to  former  school-fellows  and  old  friends 
of  a  lifetime.  They  could  now  show  that  they  still  had 
a  kindly  thought  for  one  or  other  from  whom  they  had 
been  estranged  during  the  trying  period,  before  they  were 
called  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  for  certain  wise  elderly 
people  whose  friendly  warnings  they  had  resented  at  the 
time  of  their  departure.  This  was  their  chance  to  give 
a  little  happiness  to  the  old  folks  at  home,  to  the  sweet 
heart  they  had  left  behind  them,  to  the  pastor  and  the 
schoolmaster  who  had  taught  them,  one  and  all. 

Ljung  Bjorn  and  Bullat  Gunner  sat  the  whole  day  with 
pens  in  their  toil-stiffened  hands,  writing  letters  to  rela 
tives  and  friends,  while  Gabriel  stood  turning  out  cups  of 
olive-wood  and  Karon  Ingmarsson  did  up  any  number  of 
large  photographs  of  Gethsemane,  of  the  Church  of  the 

291 


292  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Holy  Sepulchre,  of  the  beautiful  mansion  in  which  the 
colonists  live,  and  its  large  meeting-room,  arranging 
them  in  different  parcels. 

The  children  were  busy  drawing  pictures  in  Indian  ink 
on  thin  pieces  of  olive  wood,  as  they  had  been  taught  at 
the  American  school,  and  making  photograph-frames, 
on  which  they  gummed  specimens  of  every  variety  of 
seed,  kernel  and  corn  to  be  found  in  the  East. 

Martha  Ingmarsson  took  a  large  piece  of  linen  fabric 
off  her  loom  and  cut  it  up  into  towels  and  serviettes  on 
which  she  embroidered  initials.  These  were  to  go  to  a 
sister-in-law  and  a  brother-in-law.  Smiling,  she  thought 
to  herself:  "The  folks  at  home  will  see  that  I  have  not 
forgotten  how  to  weave  since  coming  to  Jerusalem." 

The  two  Ingmarsson  girls  who  had  been  to  America 
were  wrapping  up  jars  of  peach  and  apricot  preserves. 
Each  jar  bore  the  name  of  a  dear  friend,  the  thought 
of  whom  brought  tears  to  their  eyes. 

Israel  Tomasson's  wife  s^ood  rolling  out  gingerbread 
dough,  and  had  besides  a  cake  in  the  oven  to  watch. 
The  cake  was  for  Gertrude  and  Ingmar  to  eat  on  their 
journey,  but  the  ginger  cookies,  which  would  keep  any 
length  of  time,  they  were  not  to  touch.  These  were  to 
be  divided  between  the  old  beggar  woman  at  Muckelmire, 
who  had  stood  at  the  roadside  so  clean  and  tidy  the  day 
they  set  out  for  Jerusalem,  and  old  Eva  Gunnarsdotter, 
who  had  been  one  of  them  in  days  gone  by. 

As  the  various  parcels  were  made  up  they  were  brought 
to  Gertrude,  who  picked  them  in  a  large  trunk.  Had 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"         293 

Gertrude  not  been  born  and  bred  in  the  parish  she  would 
never  have  dared  undertake  the  difficult  commission  of 
delivering  these  many  things  to  the  right  parties,  for 
some  of  the  parcels  bore  singular  addresses.  She  would 
have  had  to  think  twice  to  know  where  to  look  for  "Franz 
who  lives  at  the  crossways,"  or  "Lisa,  sister  of  Pehr 
Larsson,"  or  "Eric,  who  two  years  ago  was  in  service 
at  the  home  of  the  County  Judge." 

Ljung  Bjorn's  son  Gunnar  came  with  the  largest  par 
cel;  it  was  addressed  to  "Karin  who  sat  next  to  me  in 
school,  and  who  lived  somewhere  in  the  big  forest." 
Her  last  name  he  had  forgotten.  But  he  had  made  for 
Karin  a  pair  of  patent  leather  shoes,  with  French  heels, 
and  prided  himself  upon  their  being  the  neatest  thing  in 
the  shoemaking  line  ever  turned  out  in  the  colony. 
"Greet  her  from  me  and  tell  her  that  she  must  come  out 
here  as  she  promised  when  I  left  home,"  he  said  as  he 
entrusted  the  precious  bundle  to  Gertrude. 

The  Dalecarlian  yeomen  entrusted  to  Ingmar  their 
letters  and  special  messages  for  their  friends  in  the  home 
land.  "Don't  fail  to  go  to  the  pastor,  the  Chairman 
of  the  Parish  Council,  and  the  schoolmaster,"  they 
wound  up  with,  "and  tell  them  that  you  have  seen  with 
your  own  eyes  that  we  fare  well  here  and  are  happy, 
that  we  live  in  a  house,  and  not  in  caves,  and  that  we  work 
for  our  bread  and  lead  honest  lives." 

From  the  day  Bo  had  found  Ingmar  lying  wounded 
in  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  the  two  had  been  on  most 


294  THE  HOLYLCITY 

friendly  terms.  Bo  had  spent  all  his  spare  moments 
with  Ingmar,  who  during  his  illness  had  occupied  one  of 
the  guest  chambers.  But  on  the  day  Gertrude  decided 
to  go  home  with  Ingmar  he  did  not  visit  the  sick-room. 
Ingmar  asked  for  him  several  times,  but  none  knew 
where  he  was. 

As  the  day  wore  on  Ingmar  grew  restless.  For  the  first 
few  moments  after  Gertrude  had  said  she  would  return  with 
him,  he  had  felt  relieved  and  happy  to  think  that  he  could 
take  her  away  from  this  dreadful  land,  to  which  she  had 
been  driven  by  his  treatment.  To  be  sure  he  was  still 
glad  that  she  was  going,  though  every  hour  his  longing 
for  his  wife  grew  stronger.  He  realized  now  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  to  carry  out  this  thing  that  he 
had  taken  upon  himself.  There  were  moments  when  he 
felt  that  he  must  tell  Gertrude  his  whole  story,  but  on 
reflection,  it  seemed  better  not  to.  He  feared  that  should 
Gertrude  learn  that  he  had  ceased  to  love  her,  she  might 
refuse  to  go  home  with  him.  Nor  did  he  know  whether 
she  still  cared  for  him,  or  now  loved  someone  else.  At 
one  time  he  had  thought  that  she  must  love  Bo,  but  of 
late  he  had  reached  the  conclusion  that  she  loved  no  one 
save  Him  whose  coming  she  had  awaited  every  morning 
on  the  Mount  of  Olives.  "Once  she  is  home  again,"  he 
thought,  "her  old  love  for  me  may  reawaken.  In  that  case 
it  would  be  better  perhaps  to  marry  her  and  try  to  make 
her  happy,  than  to  go  about  all  the  while  longing  for  one 
who  can  never  again  be  mine." 

Although  he  struggled  to  persuade  himself  of  this,  his 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"         295 

heart  rebelled.  Sitting  there  with  eyes  bandaged,  he 
seemed  to  see  his  wife  constantly  before  him.  "I  am 
hers,"  he  mused.  "No  one  else  can  be  anything  to  me. 
I  know  why  I  set  out  upon  this  fool's  errand;  I  wanted 
to  be  as  big  a  man  as  my  father.  I  had  hoped  to  bring 
Gertrude  back  from  Jerusalem  just  as  my  father  brought 
my  mother  home  from  the  prison.  It  is  clear  now 
that  my  case  is  different.  I  shall  fail  because  I  love 
another." 

Toward  evening  Bo  came.  He  stopped  just  inside  the 
door,  as  if  intending  to  be  off  in  a  moment.  "I  hear 
that  you've  been  asking  for  me,"  he  said. 

"Yes;  I'm  going  home,"  Ingmar  told  him. 

"I  know,"  Bo  answered  curtly. 

Ingmar  turned  his  head  toward  Bo,  as  if  wanting  to 
see  his  face.  "You  sound  as  though  you  were  in  a  hurry," 
he  said. 

"I've  a  good  deal  to  do,"  Bo  returned. 

"There  was  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  said 
Ingmar. 

Bo  came  a  step  nearer. 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  home  to  Sweden  for  a 
month  or  two?"  Ingmar  began.  "I  know  that  your 
mother  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  ask  me  such  a  thing." 

"If  you  want  to  come  along  with  us  I'll  pay  your  pas 
sage." 

"Indeed!"  said  Bo. 

"Your  mother  is  my  father's  only  sister,  you  know," 


296  THE  HOLY  CITY 

said  Ingmar  eagerly,  "and  I'd  like  to  afford  her  the  pleas 
ure  of  seeing  you  once  again  in  this  life." 

"You  must  want  to  take  the  whole  colony  back  with 
you,"  Bo  retorted,  a  bit  nettled. 

Ingmar  was  nonplussed.  He  had  so  hoped  that  he 
might  be  able  to  persuade  Bo  to  go  home  with  him,  and 
felt  that  if  he  would  only  come  along  Gertrude  would 
surely  grow  to  like  him  better  than  she  liked  himself. 
He  knew  that  Bo  had  always  been  devoted  to  Gertrude, 
which  ought  to  count  for  something  with  her. 

In  a  moment  Ingmar  took  heart  again.  "It  was  just 
my  stupidity,"  he  thought;  "I  didn't  approach  him  in 
the  right  way."  Then  he  said:  "I  must  confess  that 
it  is  mostly  on  my  own  account  I'm  asking  you  to  do 
this." 

He  waited  for  a  response;  when  none  seemed  forth 
coming,  he  continued:  "I  don't  know  how  Gertrude  and 
I  will  be  able  to  get  along  by  ourselves  on  this  troublesome 
journey.  If  I  must  travel  with  my  eyes  bandaged,  how 
shall  I  ever  manage  to  get  in  and  out  of  the  little  ferries 
that  take  you  to  the  steamers,  and  climb  accommodation 
ladders,  and  what  not?  I'd  be  sure  to  miss  my  footing 
and  fall  into  the  sea.  I  think  we  really  should  have  a  man 
along." 

"You're  right  about  that,"  Bo  agreed. 

"And  then,  Gertrude  wouldn't  understand  about  buy 
ing  tickets  and  looking  after  luggage." 

"Of  course  she  wouldn't,"  said  Bo.  "You  must  have 
some  man  with  you." 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"        297 

"I  was  sure  you  would  see  how  necessary  it  was  for 
us  to  have  a  companion,"  cried  Ingmar,  elated. 

"Why  not  ask  Gabriel?  His  father  would  no  doubt  be 
glad  to  see  him." 

For  a  moment  Ingmar  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  could 
not  speak,  and  when  at  last  he  did,  he  seemed  quite  down 
cast.  "I  had  counted  on  having  you,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  don't  count  on  me,"  Bo  answered.  "I'm  very 
happy  here.  Almost  any  of  the  others  would  be  glad  to 
accompany  you,  I'm  sure." 

"But  it  makes  a  great  difference  to  me  who  goes. 
You  have  toured  about  so  much  more  than  any  of  the 
others." 

"Anyway  I  can't  go,  I  tell  you,"  Bo  declared. 

Ingmar  was  growing  more  and  more  uneasy.  "This  is 
a  great  disappointment  to  me,"  he  sighed.  "I  thought 
you  really  meant  it  when  you  said  you'd  be  my  friend." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  offer,"  Bo  quickly  cut  in,  "but 
there's  nothing  that  you  could  say  that  would  make  me 
change  my  mind.  Now  I  must  be  about  my  business." 
He  turned  and  left  the  room  before  Ingmar  could  say  an 
other  word. 

Once  outside  the  door,  Bo  did  not  appear  to  be  in  any 
great  hurry.  He  walked  slowly  down  the  steps  and  on 
through  the  gateway,  and  then  seated  himself  under 
the  old  sycamore  tree.  It  was  now  evening  and  quite 
dark,  though  the  stars  were  out  and  a  crescent  moon 
hung  in  the  sky. 

Bo  had  been  sitting  there  but  a  few  moments,  when 


298  THE  HOLY  CITY 

the  gate  opened  and  Gertrude  came  out.  She  stood  for  a 
while  looking  about  her  before  she  descried  him. 

"Is  it  you,  Bo?'*  she  asked,  coming  toward  him.  "I 
thought  I  should  find  you  here,"  she  said,  sitting  down 
beside  him. 

"We  two  have  sat  here  many  an  evening,"  said  Bo. 

"So  we  have,  Bo;  but  I  suppose  this  is  to  be  the  last." 

"I  suppose  it  is."  Bo  sat  rigidly  erect  and  his  voice 
sounded  cold  and  hollow.  One  would  have  thought 
that  this  was  a  matter  of  no  moment  to  him. 

"Ingmar  tells  me  he  is  going  to  ask  you  to  go  back 
with  us,"  said  Gertrude. 

"He  has  already  asked  me  and  I  have  said  no." 

"I  might  have  known  you  wouldn't  care  to  come!" 

They  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  as  though  they  had 
nothing  more  to  say  to  each  other.  Gertrude  now  and 
then  stole  a  glance  at  Bo,  who  sat  gazing  at  the  sky. 

When  the  silence  became  oppressive,  Bo,  still  looking 
into  the  sky,  said:  "Isn't  it  too  cold  for  you  to  be  sitting 
out  here?" 

"  Do  you  w  ant  me  to  go  ? "  asked  Gertrude. 

Bo  bowed  his  head  a  little,  as  if  nodding  assent,  think 
ing  she  could  not  see  it  i  n  the  dark.  Then  he  said:  "Oh, 
I  like  your  being  here." 

"I  came  out  to-night  because  I  thought  we  might  not 
have  another  opportunity  to  be  together  before  I  leave, 
and  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  the  many  times  that  you 
have  guarded  me  in  my  walks  to  the  Mount  of  Olives." 

"I  only  did  that  to  please  myself,"  Bo  replied. 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"         299 

"And  I  must  also  thank  you  for  fetching  water  for  me 
that  time  from  the  Well  of  Paradise,"  Gertrude  added  with 
a  wistful  smile. 

Bo  tried  to  speak,  but  no  words  came — only  a  sound 
like  a  sob. 

To  Gertrude  there  was  something  strangely  appealing 
about  Bo  that  evening,  and  she  felt  the  deepest  sympathy 
for  him.  "This  parting  is  going  to  be  terribly  hard  for 
poor  Bo,"  she  thought.  "He's  a  stout-hearted  fellow 
not  to  complain,  for  I  know  that  he  has  always  loved  me. 
I  wish  I  knew  what  to  say  to  comfort  him.  If  I  could 
only  say  something  that  he  would  like  to  recall  when  sit 
ting  alone  evenings  under  this  tree!" 

While  Gertrude  was  thus  musing,  her  own  heart  seemed 
to  contract  with  grief  and  a  strange  numbness  crept  over 
her.  "Indeed,  I'm  going  to  miss  Bo,"  she  thought,  "we 
have  had  so  much  to  talk  over  of  late,  and  I've  grown  so 
accustomed  to  seeing  his  face  light  up  with  happiness 
whenever  we  chanced  to  meet,  and  besides,  it  has  been 
nice  to  have  someone  near  who  was  always  pleased  no 
matter  what  I  did." 

The  feeling  that  she  would  miss  him  grew  and  increased 
like  a  sudden  attack  of  illness.  "What  has  come  over 
me?"  she  wondered.  "Surely  this  having  to  part  from 
Bo  can't  be  such  a  grievous  thing?" 

Bo  suddenly  broke  the  silence.  "I've  been  thinking 
of  something  the  whole  evening,"  he  said. 

"Tell  me  about  it!"  cried  Gertrude  eagerly.  Her 
heart  felt  lighter  now  that  he  had  spoken. 


300  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Ingmar  once  told  me  about  a  sawmill  he  has  close  by 
his  farm.  I  think  he  wanted  me  to  go  back  with  him  so 
that  he  could  rent  it  to  me." 

"That  shows  how  much  Ingmar  thinks  of  you,  Bo,  for 
that  sawmill  is  his  pet  hobby." 

"I've  heard  the  buzzing  of  that  mill  in  my  ears  the 
whole  evening,"  said  Bo,  "the  whirr  of  the  saws  and  the 
boom  of  the  logs  clashing  against  each  other  in  the  river. 
You  can't  imagine  how  delightful  it  all  is  to  me!  And 
I've  also  been  wondering  how  it  would  seem  to  be  work 
ing  on  my  own  account,  instead  of  being  buried  like  this 
in  a  colony." 

"So  that  is  what  you  have  been  thinking  about  while 
sitting  here  so  quiet,"  said  Gertrude  coldly,  for  somehow 
she  felt  disappointed  at  Bo's  utterances.  "You  don't 
have  to  sigh  long  for  that;  you've  only  to  go  back  with 
Ingmar." 

"But  there's  something  else  too,"  said  Bo.  "Ingmar 
also  told  me  he  had  timber  lying  ready  to  build  a  cottage 
close  to  the  sawmill.  He  has  staked  out  a  piece  of  land  on 
a  hill,  overlooking  the  rapid,  on  which  a  couple  of  fine 
birch  trees  are  growing.  It's  that  cottage  I've  seen, 
inside  and  out,  all  the  evening.  I  can  see  the  carpet  of 
fir-twigs  before  the  door  and  I  can  see  the  fire  blazing  on 
the  hearth;  and,  coming  home  from  the  sawmill,  I  can 
see  someone  standing  in  the  doorway  waiting  for  me." 

"It's  growing  cold,  Bo,"  Gertrude  interrupted.  "Don't 
you  think  we  had  better  go  inside  now?" 

"So  you  don't  care  to  stay  out  here  any  longer  ? "said  Bo. 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"         301 

However,  they  neither  of  them  stirred.  After  a  long 
silence,  Gertrude  said:  "I  thought,  Bo,  that  you  loved 
the  colony  above  everything  in  this  world,  and  that 
nothing  could  induce  you  to  leave  it." 

"There's  just  one  thing  for  which  I  would  leave  it." 

"Won't  you  tell  me  what  it  is?" 

After  some  deliberation,  Bo  answered  in  a  broken  voice: 
"I  may  as  well  tell  you.  It  is  this — if  the  woman  I  love 
were  to  tell  me  that  she  loves  me." 

Gertrude  was  so  still  it  seemed  as  if  she  hardly  dare 
breathe. 

Although  she  said  not  a  word,  it  was  as  though  Bo  had 
heard  her  say  she  loved  him,  for  he  began  to  speak  with 
ease  and  glibness.  "You'll  see,  Gertrude,  that  your  old 
love  for  Ingmar  will  soon  reawaken,"  he  said.  "You 
have  been  angry  with  him  for  giving  you  up,  but  now 
that  you  have  forgiven  him  you  will  grow  as  fond  of  him 
as  you  were  in  the  old  days.  Think  of  all  he  has  done  to 
win  you  back!  Why,  he'd  rather  become  blind  than  go 
home  without  you." 

"Yes,  it  would  be  dreadful  of  me  not  to  like  him,"  she 
said  in  a  faint  voice.  Until  that  evening  she  had  felt 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  she  could  never  love  anyone 
but  Ingmar. 

"I  can't  think  clearly  to-night,  Bo.  I  don't  know  what 
has  come  over  me,  but  you  mustn't  speak  to  me  of  Ing 


mar." 


Now  first  the  one  and  then  the  other  said  something 
about  going  in;   but  neither  moved  until  Karin  called  to 


302  THE  HOLY  CITY 

them:     "Ingmar  would  like  to  see  both  of  you  in  his 


room." 


While  Gertrude  had  talked  with  Bo,  Karin  had  been 
in  to  see  Ingmar  and  had  given  him  certain  messages  for 
friends  at  home.  She  had  dragged  out  her  talk  to  such 
length  it  was  quite  plain  that  she  had  something  to  tell 
Ingmar  which  she  hesitated  to  say.  At  last  she  said  in 
such  an  offhand  manner,  that  anyone  knowing  her  pecul 
iarities  would  have  guessed  at  once  that  this  was  the  real 
object  of  her  visit:  "Ljung  Bjorn  has  had  a  letter  from 
his  brother  Pehr." 

"Has  he?"   said  Ingmar. 

"I  must  confess  I  was  unjust  to  you  the  day  of  our 
talk  in  my  room,  soon  after  your  arrival." 

"You  only  said  what  you  thought  to  be  right." 

"I  know  now  that  you  had  good  cause  for  leaving  Bar- 
bro.  Pehr  writes  that  she  is  not  a  good  woman." 

"But  I  never  said  anything  to  you  against  Barbro!" 

"They  say  there's  a  baby  at  Ingmar  Farm." 

"When  did  the  baby  come?" 

"They  say  sometime  in  August." 

"It's  a  lie!"  Ingmar  shouted,  bringing  his  clenched 
fist  down  heavily  on  the  table,  barely  missing  Karin's 
hand,  which  rested  there. 

"You  came  near  striking  my  hand." 

"I  didn't  know  your  hand  was  there." 

Karin  went  on  talking  about  this  for  some  time,  and 
Ingmar  soon  grew  calmer.  "You  must  understand  that  it 
is  not  very  pleasant  for  me  to  hear  such  things,"  he 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"         303 

told  her;  "so  tell  Ljung  Bjorn  from  me  not  to  let  this  go 
any  further  until  we  know  the  truth  about  it." 

"Never  you  fear,  I'll  see  that  he  holds  his  tongue." 

"And  will  you  please  ask  Gertrude  and  Bo  to  come  to 
me?"  Ingmar  added. 

When  they  came  into  the  sick-room  they  found  Ingmar 
sitting  over  in  a  dark  corner.  At  first  they  could  hardly 
see  him.  "You  sent  for  us,"  said  Bo.  "What  is  the 
matter,  Ingmar?" 

"This — that  I  have  taken  upon  myself  more  than  I 
can  carry  out." 

"Ingmar,  tell  me  frankly  what  it  is  that  troubles  you?" 
said  Gertrude,  going  up  to  him;  "we  have  never  had  any 
secrets  from  each  other  since  we  were  children." 

Ingmar  groaned. 

Gertrude  went  quite  close  to  him  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  head.  "I  think  I  can  guess  what  it  is,"  said  she. 

Ingmar  suddenly  drew  himself  up.  "No,  Gertrude, 
you  won't  have  to  do  any  guessing,"  he  replied,  taking 
from  his  breast-pocket  a  banknote  case,  which  he  gave  to 
her.  "You  will  find  in  there  a  bulky  letter  addressed 
to  the  pastor." 

"Yes,  here  it  is,"  said  Gertrude. 

"I  want  you  and  Bo  to  read  that  letter.  I  wrote  it 
soon  after  my  arrival,  when  I  still  had  the  courage  not 
to  send  it." 

Gertrude  and  Bo  sat  down  at  the  table,  and  began  the 
reading.  Ingmar  from  his  corner  could  hear  them  turn 
ing  the  pages.  "Now  they  are  reading  about  this,"  he 


3o4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

thought,  "now  about  that.  And  now  they  have  come  to 
the  place  where  Barbro  tells  me  how  Berger  Sven  Pers- 
son  tricked  us  into  marrying.  Now  they  are  reading  of 
how  she  bought  back  the  old  silver  beakers;  and  now 
they've  come  to  that  tale  Stig  Borjesson  told  me.  Ger 
trude  now  knows  that  I  no  longer  care  for  her,  and  sees 
what  a  poor  wretch  I  am." 

There  was  breathless  silence  in  the  room.  Gertrude  and 
Bo  did  not  move,  save  when  they  turned  a  page.  "How 
will  Gertrude  be  able  to  understand  that  it  was  borne 
in  upon  me  to-day,  the  very  day  she  decided  to  go  back 
with  me,  that  I  must  let  her  know  it  is  not  herself  but 
Barbro  that  I  love?  And  why  is  it  that  it  was  only  on 
hearing  Barbro  slandered  that  I  knew  I  could  never  marry 
any  other?  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  me,  but 
I  feel  that  I'm  not  myself  any  more." 

He  waited  anxiously  for  the  others  to  speak,  but  all 
he  heard  was  the  rustling  of  the  pages.  Unable  to  bear 
the  suspense  any  longer,  he  carefully  drew  the  bandage 
up  from  the  eye  he  could  see  with,  and  looked  at  Ger 
trude  and  Bo.  The  two  were  still  reading,  their  heads 
so  close  together  that  they  sat  almost  cheek  to  cheek,  and 
Bo's  arm  was  around  Gertrude's  waist.  As  they  read 
on  they  drew  nearer  to  each  other,  and  now  and  then  they 
glanced  up  from  the  paper  and  looked  deep  into  each 
other's  eyes.  And  their  eyes  were  very  bright. 

When  they  had  finished  the  last  page,  Gertrude  nestled 
close  to  Bo,  and  thus  .they  sat  clasped  in  each  other's 
arms.  They  had  perhaps  grasped  nothing  more  of  what 


"WE  SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"        305 

they  had  read  than  the  fact  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  love. 

Ingmar  folded  his  big  hands,  and  thanked  God.  It 
was  a  long  while  before  any  of  the  three  moved. 

The  colonists  had  gathered  in  the  meeting-room  for 
morning  prayers.  It  was  the  last  service  in  the  colony 
at  which  Ingmar  would  be  present.  He  and  Gertrude  and 
Bo  were  leaving  by  train  for  Jaffa  in  a  few  hours.  Bo, 
the  previous  day,  had  told  Mrs.  Gordon  and  one  or  two  of 
the  leading  men  of  the  colony  that  it  was  his  intention 
to  go  back  with  Ingmar  to  Sweden,  to  remain  there.  In 
giving  his  reasons  he  had  been  obliged,  of  course,  to  tell 
the  whole  of  Ingmar's  story,  and  Mrs.  Gordon  after  pon 
dering  what  she  had  heard,  said:  "Certainly  no  one 
would  want  to  make  Ingmar  more  unhappy  than  he  is 
already,  therefore  I'm  quite  willing  that  you  should  go 
with  him.  Somehow  I  feel  that  you  and  Gertrude  will 
one  day  return  to  us.  I'm  sure  you  can  never  be  as  con 
tent  elsewhere." 

That  the  three  might  take  their  departure  quietly  it 
was  decided  that  the  colonists  should  only  be  told  that 
Bo  was  going  with  Ingmar  and  Gertrude  to  help  them  on 
the  journey. 

Just  as  the  service  was  about  to  begin  Ingmar  was  led 
into  the  room.  Mrs.  Gordon  immediately  rose  and  went 
to  meet  him.  Taking  him  by  the  hand,  she  conducted 
him  to  the  chair  beside  her  own  and  carefully  helped 
him  to  be  seated.  Then  Miss  Young,  who  was  at 


3o6  THE  HOLY  CITY 

the  organ,  began  a  hymn,  after  which  the  usual  service 
was  held. 

When  Mrs.  Gordon  had  finished  her  short  explanatory 
Bible-reading,  old  Miss  Hoggs  stood  up  and  prayed  that 
God  would  grant  Ingmar  a  safe  journey  and  a  happy 
home-coming.  Then  one  after  another  the  Americans 
and  the  Syrians  arose  and  prayed  that  God  would  bring 
Ingmar  into  the  light  of  truth.  Some  spoke  very  beau 
tifully,  and  promised  to  pray  every  day  for  Ingmar, 
who  was  their  dear  brother,  and  hoped  he  might  soon  be 
restored  to  health.  And  they  all  expressed  a  wish  that 
he  would  come  back  to  Jerusalem. 

While  the  foreigners  were  speaking,  the  Swedes,  who 
were  up  in  front,  sat  silently  regarding  Ingmar.  As 
they  did  so,  they  thought  of  the  justice  and  order  and 
safety  that  prevailed  in  their  homeland,  and  felt  that 
while  he  had  been  among  them  some  measure  of  this  had 
come  to  them.  But  now  that  he  was  leaving,  they  felt 
as  if  lost  in  a  lawless  land,  among  all  these  people  who 
blindly  and  mercilessly  fight  for  the  souls  of  men. 

And  again  with  tender  sadness  their  thoughts  turned 
to  their  homeland.  They  seemed  to  see  the  old  parish 
with  its  fields  and  woodlands,  and  the  people  going  about 
in  peace  and  quietude.  It  was  all  so  secure.  Day  after 
day  passed  in  the  same  even  way,  and  the  one  year  was 
so  much  like  the  other  that  one  could  hardly  tell  which 
was  which. 

As  they  sat  musing  on  the  peaceful  life  at  home,  they 
suddenly  realized  what  a  big  and  wonderful  thing  it  was 


"WE   SHALL  MEET  BY-AND-BY"        307 

to  be  out  in  the  world,  to  have  a  goal  before  you,  and  to 
be  away  from  the  dull  monotony  of  the  old  days.  One 
of  them  now  lifted  up  his  voice  and  prayed  in  Swedish, 
saying:  "O  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  letting  me  come 
to  Jerusalem."  Then  one  after  another  the  Swedes  rose 
and  gave  thanks  to  God  for  calling  them  to  His  Holy 
City. 

They  thanked  Him  for  the  dear  colony,  which  had 
meant  so  much  to  them;  they  thanked  Him  that  their 
children  could  learn  in  their  tender  years  to  live  in  peace 
and  concord  with  all  mankind;  they  hoped  that  the 
younger  generation  might  attain  a  larger  growth  in  grace 
than  they  themselves  had  attained.  They  gave  thanks 
to  God  for  persecution,  for  suffering,  and  for  the  beauti 
ful  teachings  they  had  been  called  to  spread.  None 
sat  down  until  they  had  testified  to  the  great  inner  joy 
that  had  come  to  them.  And  Ingmar  knew  that  all  this 
was  said  for  his  benefit;  that  this  was  what  they  wished 
him  to  tell  the  people  at  home. 

As  Ingmar  listened  to  these  testimonies  he  straightened 
himself  a  little,  he  held  his  head  high  and  the  tense  ex 
pression  of  his  mouth  was  now  more  marked  than  ever. 

When  they  had  all  spoken,  Miss  Young  played  the 
closing  hymn,  after  which  every  one  got  up  to  leave, 
thinking  the  meeting  was  over.  Then  Mrs.  Gordon 
said:  "To-day  we  must  also  have  a  Swedish  hymn." 

Whereupon  the  Swedes  sang  the  hymn  they  had  sung 
when  leaving  their  fatherland.  "We  shall  meet  by-and- 
by;  we  shall  meet  in  that  Eden  above." 


3o8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

As  they  sang,  a  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  them  and 
tears  came  into  many  eyes.  For  now  they  thought  of  all 
those  from  whom  they  were  separated,  and  should  never 
again  meet  this  side  of  heaven. 

At  the  close  of  the  hymn  Ingmar  stood  up.  He  wanted 
to  say  a  few  words  to  his  compatriots,  as  if  spoken  from 
the  country  to  which  he  was  returning. 

"You  people  are  a  great  honour  to  us  at  home,"  he  said, 
"and  we  will  indeed  be  glad  to  meet  you  again,  wher 
ever  that  meeting  may  be — whether  on  earth  or  in  heaven. 
There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  than  to  see  people  making 
sacrifices  for  righteousness'  sake." 


THE  CHILD 


THE  CHILD 

ABOUT  a  month  after  Ingmar  had  left  for  Jerusalem 
old  Lisa  of  Ingmar  Farm  noticed  that  Barbro  had 
become  strangely  restless  and  uneasy.  "How 
queer  and  wild  her  eyes  look!"  she  thought.  "I  wonder 
if  she  can  be  losing  her  mind  ? " 

So  the  old  woman  determined  to  find  out  what  was 
troubling  Barbro.  "I  can't  understand  what  has  come 
over  you  lately,"  she  said.  "When  I  was  young  I  saw 
one  winter  the  mistress  at  Ingmar  Farm  going  about 
with  just  such  a  look  in  her  eyes  as  you've  got." 

"Was  it  the  one  who  killed  her  child?"  asked  Barbro 
quickly. 

"Yes,"  the  old  woman  replied,  "and  I'm  beginning 
to  think  that  you  mean  to  do  the  same  thing." 

To  which  Barbro  made  no  direct  reply.  "Every  time  I 
hear  that  story,"  she  said,  "there's  just  one  thing  about  it 
I  can't  understand." 

"And  what  might  that  be?" 

"Why  she  didn't  do  away  with  herself  too." 

The  old  woman,  who  sat  spinning,  stopped  her  wheel 
and  looked  straight  at  Barbro.  "I  don't  wonder  you 
feel  bad  when  there's  a  little  one  on  the  way,  and  your 
husband  gone  to  a  foreign  land.  He  couldn't  have  known 
about  this  when  he  left  you." 


3i2  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Neither  of  us  knew,"  said  Barbro  in  a  faint  voice, 
as  if  weighed  down  by  a  sorrow  too  heavy  for  words. 

"But  now,  of  course,  you'll  write  him  to  come  home." 

"No,"  said  Barbro.  "My  only  comfort  is  the  thought 
of  his  being  away." 

The  old  woman  was  horrified.  "Do  you  call  that  a 
comfort!"  she  gasped. 

Barbro  stood  at  the  window,  staring  straight  before 
her.  "Don't  you  know  that  a  curse  rests  upon  me?" 
she  asked,  trying  to  speak  in  a  steady  voice. 

"Oh,  one  can't  go  in  and  out  without  hearing  this  or 
that,"  returned  the  old  woman.  "To  be  sure  I  have  heard 
that  you  come  of  the  Sorrow  Hill  people." 

Then  for  a  while  no  more  was  said.  Old  Lisa  had 
resumed  her  spinning.  She  now  and  then  stole  a  glance 
at  Barbro,  who  was  still  at  the  window  and  who  stood 
shaking  as  if  from  fright. 

Presently  old  Lisa  got  up  from  her  work  and  walked 
toward  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Barbro. 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know,  I'm  going  to  try  to  find 
someone  who  will  write  to  Ingmar." 

Barbro  quickly  placed  herself  in  Lisa's  way.  "You'd 
better  not  try,"  she  said.  "Before  you  could  have  the 
letter  written  I'd  be  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  river." 

They  stood  eyeing  each  other.  Barbro  was  big  and 
strong.  Old  Lisa  thought  she  would  use  force  if  need  be 
to  keep  her  there,  when  Barbro  suddenly  burst  into  a 
laugh,  and  stepped  aside.  "Oh,  write  if  you  must!"  she 


THE  CHILD  313 

said,  "I  don't  care.  It  will  simply  mean  that  I  shall  have 
to  end  it  all  sooner  than  I  had  intended.1' 

The  old  woman  seeing  that  she  must  proceed  cau 
tiously  with  Barbro  while  the  latter  was  in  this  desperate 
frame  of  mind,  said :  "  Indeed  I'll  not  write." 

"By  all  means  do!"  cried  Barbro.  "It  won't  affect 
me  one  way  or  the  other.  Can't  you  comprehend  that 
I  shall  have  to  do  away  with  myself  in  any  case?  It 
would  be  wicked  to  allow  this  curse  to  go  on  forever." 

Old  Lisa  went  back  to  her  spinning-wheel. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  see  about  that  letter?"  asked 
Barbro,  following  her  up. 

"Will  you  let  me  have  a  sensible  talk  with  you?"  said 
old  Lisa. 

"Why,  of  course." 

"I  will  promise  you  not  to  say  anything  about  all  this, 
if  you  will  promise  not  to  harm  yourself  and  the  child 
you  are  carrying  before  we  are  quite  sure  about  its  being 
the  sort  that  you  expect." 

On  thinking  it  over,  Barbro  said:  "Have  I  your  word, 
then,  that  afterwards  I  may  do  as  I  like?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  woman,  "afterwards  you  can 
do  as  you  like,  that  I  promise  you." 

"I  might  as  well  do  it  at  once,"  said  Barbro  wearily. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  above  everything  to  give  Ing- 
mar  a  chance  to  right  the  wrong  he  has  done  another," 
said  the  old  woman,  "but  how  could  he  if  he  were  to  hear 
such  news  of  you  ?" 

Barbro   started    and    pressed    her  hand  to   her  heart. 


3i4  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Let  it  be  as  you  wish,"  she  said.  "This  is  a  hard 
thing  you  are  asking  of  me,  but  mind  you  keep  your 
promise." 

Old  Lisa  betrayed  nothing  and  Barbro  was  so  careful 
to  guard  her  secret  that  no  one  even  suspected  what  was 
going  to  happen.  Luckily  for  her,  the  spring  came  very 
early  that  year.  By  the  middle  of  March  the  snows  in 
the  forest  had  melted,  and  as  soon  as  there  was  a  blade 
of  grass  to  feed  upon  Barbro  had  the  cows  driven  up  to 
the  sdter,  which  was  on  a  lonely  mountain-side  far  from 
any  habitation.  She  and  the  old  servant  went  along 
to  tend  the  cows. 

Near  the  end  of  May  the  child  was  born.  It  was  a 
boy,  a  puny  and  weak  little  thing  that  cried  all  the  time. 
When  old  Lisa  showed  him  to  Barbro,  she  laughed  bit 
terly.  "It  was  needless  your  making  me  live  for  the  sake 
of  this  child." 

"You  can't  tell  when  they're  as  little  as  'that  what 
they'll  grow  up  to  be,"  replied  the  old  woman  comfort 
ingly. 

"Now  mind  you  keep  your  promise  to  let  me  do  as  I 
see  fit,"  said  Barbro  sternly. 

"Yes;  but  I  must  first  be  quite  sure  that  he  is  blind." 

Barbro  was  more  ill  this  time  than  last.  The  first 
week  she  felt  too  weak  to  leave  her  bed.  The  child  was 
not  with  the  mother.  Lisa  kept  it  in  one  of  the  small 
hay-sheds  at  the  sdter  and  took  care  of  it  night  and  day. 
She  fed  it  on  goat's  milk,  and  only  with  the  greatest  diffi 
culty  managed  to  keep  it  alive.  Once  or  twice  a  day 


THE  CHILD  315 

she  brought  the  child  into  the  cabin,  but  Barbro  always 
turned  away  so  as  not  to  see  it. 

One  day  old  Lisa  stood  at  the  low  window  in  the  cabin 
holding  the  child  in  her  arms;  it  was  crying  as  usual,  and 
the  old  woman  could  not  help  remarking  to  herself  what  a 
pitiful  little  morsel  it  was.  "My  goodness!"  she  cried 
out,  suddenly  bending  forward,  "if  there  isn't  company 
coming!" 

In  a  twinkling  she  was  over  by  the  bed. 

"You'll  have  to  take  the  child,  Barbro,  while  I  run  out 
and  tell  them  they  can't  come  inside,  as  you  are  sick." 

Then  she  laid  the  infant    on  the  bed    and  went  out. 

Barbro  let  it  lie  there  crying,  without  touching  it.  Old 
Lisa  was  back  in  a  moment. 

"That  child's  cries  can  be  heard  over  the  whole  forest," 
she  said.  "If  you  can't  hush  it,  how  are  we  going  to  pre 
vent  people  rinding  out  about  it?" 

Directly  this  was  said  out  she  went  again,  and  Barbro 
not  knowing  what  else  she  could  do,  put  the  child  to  the 
breast. 

The  old  woman  was  gone  a  good  while.  When  she  re 
turned  the  child  was  asleep  and  Barbro  lay  looking  at  it. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  said  old  Lisa,  "they  couldn't 
have  heard  anything,  for  they  went  off  in  another  direc 
tion." 

Barbro  gave  her  a  knowing  look.  "No  doubt  you 
think  you've  done  something  very  clever,"  she  said. 
"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  there  was  no  one  there? 
That  was  merely  an  excuse  to  make  me  take  the  boy. " 


316  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"I'll  take  him  away  again,  if  you  say  so." 

"He  can  just  as  well  lie  here  until  he  awakes." 

Toward  evening  old  Lisa  again  offered  to  relieve  the 
mother  of  the  infant.  The  little  one  now  lay  quiet  and 
good,  opening  and  closing  its  tiny  hands. 

"Where  do  you  keep  him  at  night?"  asked  Barbro. 

"He  lies  in  the  hay-shed." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  let  him  lie  out  there, 
as  if  he  were  only  a  kitten?" 

"I  didn't  think  it  mattered  much  how  this  young  one 
fared;  but  if  you'd  rather  keep  it  here,  all  right." 

One  morning,  when  the  boy  was  about  a  week  old, 
Barbro  sat  up  in  bed  and  watched  the  old  woman  swad 
dle  him.  "How  awkwardly  you  take  hold  of  him!" 
said  Barbro.  "No  wonder  he  cries  so  much." 

"I've  tended  babies  before,"  the  old  woman  retorted, 
"and  I  think  I  know  as  much  about  them  as  you  do." 

Barbro  thought  to  herself  that  never  had  she  seen  any 
one  handle  a  child  so  roughly.  "You  are  holding  him  in 
such  a  way  that  he's  getting  blue  in  the  face,"  she  said 
impatiently. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  expected  to  fuss  over  this  poor 
little  changeling  as  if  he  were  a  prince,"  snapped  the  old 
woman.  "But  if  my  way  doesn't  suit  you,  do  it  your 
self."  With  that,  she  plumped  the  child  down  on  the 
bed,  and  went  off  in  a  huff. 

Barbro  rearranged  the  child's  bands  and  things,  and  it 
was  soon  quiet  and  comfortable.  "Don't  you  see  how 
good  he  is?"  she  said  when  Lisa  came  back. 


THE  CHILD  317 

"I  have  always  been  told  I  was  a  good  hand  with  chil 
dren,"  muttered  the  old  woman,  who  was  still  in  a  bad 
humour. 

After  that  Barbro  herself  looked  after  the  child.  One 
day  while  still  confined  to  her  bed,  she  asked  Lisa  to  give 
her  some  clean  things  for  the  boy.  The  old  woman  re 
plied  that  she  had  just  put  to  soak  what  few  little  baby 
rags  there  were.  Barbro  flushed  and  tears  of  chagrin 
filled  her  eyes.  "This  child  is  no  better  off  than  a  beg 
gar's  baby,"  she  said. 

" You  should  have  thought  of  all  that  before,"  the 
old  woman  returned.  "I  wonder  what  you  would  have 
done  if  I  hadn  't  gathered  together  all  the  baby-clothes 
I  could  lay  my  hands  on,  and  brought  them  with 


me." 


The  deep  despondency  from  which  Barbro  had  suffered 
during  the  winter  months  overwhelmed  her  again,  and 
made  her  hard.  "It  would  have  been  better  if  this  child 
had  never  been  swaddled,"  she  said. 

The  next  day  Barbro  was  up  for  the  first  time  She 
brought  out  her  shears,  a  needle  and  some  thread,  and 
proceeded  to  cut  up  a  sheet  to  make  clothes  for  the  child. 
When  she  had  been  sewing  for  some  little  time,  her  mor 
bid  thoughts  returned.  "What  is  the  use  of  my  making 
these  things  for  the  boy!  It  would  be  better  for  both  of 
us  if  I  went  down  into  the  bog  with  him,  for  it's  there  we 
must  end  sooner  or  later." 

She  went  out  to  speak  to  old  Lisa,  who  was  milking  the 
cows  before  driving  them  to  pasture.  "Lisa,  do  you 


3i8  THE  HOLY  CITY 

know  how  long  it  will  be  before  we  can  be  certain  that  the 
child  sees?"  she  asked. 

"In  a  week,  I  should  think,  or  perhaps  a  fortnight." 

Barbro  hurried  back  to  the  house  and  took  up  her  work 
again.  Her  hand  shook  so  that  she  could  hardly  guide 
the  shears,  and  she  was  cutting  her  cloth  very  unevenly. 
Soon  she  trembled  all  over,  and  was  obliged  to  leave 
off  working  for  a  while.  "What  ever  is  the  matter  with 
me?"  she  wondered.  "Can  it  be  that  I'm  tremb 
ling  from  joy  because  I  may  have  the  child  a  little 
longer?" 

Old  Lisa  had  a  hard  time  of  it  at  the  sdter.  She  had 
both  to  drive  the  cows  to  grass  and  do  the  milking.  Bar 
bro  had  no  thought  for  anything  but  her  child,  and  the 
old  servant  got  no  help  at  all  from  her.  "I  think,  Barbro, 
that  you  might  do  a  little  work,  and  not  spend  all  your 
time  gazing  at  that  young  one!"  old  Lisa  grumbled 
when  she  came  in  one  day  all  tired  out. 

"You'll  have  help  enough  later  on,"  Barbro  assured 
her;  "but  during  the  few  precious  days  still  left  to  us  I 
don't  intend  to  leave  him  for  a  moment." 

The  fonder  Barbro  grew  of  the  child  the  strongerbecame 
her  conviction  that  the  greatest  mercy  that  she  could 
show  it  would  be  to  carry  out  her  first  intention.  The 
child  continued  weak  and  fretful.  It  seemed  hardly  to 
have  gained  an  ounce  in  weight  and  looked  as  tiny  now 
as  when  it  was  born,  but  what  troubled  her  most  was 
that  the  child's  eyelids  were  always  red  and  swollen,  and 
it  made  no  effort  to  raise  them. 


THE  CHILD  319 

One  day  old  Lisa  happened  to  mention  the  child's  age. 
"He  is  now  three  weeks  old,  Barbro,"  she  said. 

"No,  he  won't  be  that  till  to-morrow,"  Barbro  quickly 
corrected  her. 

"Oh  indeed,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Then  I  must 
have  made  some  mistake  in  the  count,  for  I  certainly 
remember  that  he  was  born  on  a  Wednesday." 

"I  think  you  might  let  me  have  him  just  one  more 
day,"  Barbro  pleaded. 

When  old  Lisa  was  dressing  the  next  morning  she  said: 
"The  grass  round  here  is  very  poor,  so  I  shall  have  to 
drive  the  cows  further  into  the  forest;  I  don't  expect  to 
come  back  with  them  before  night."  Barbro  quickly 
turned  to  her  as  if  wanting  to  say  something,  then 
pressed  her  lips  tight  together.  "Do  you  wish  any 
thing?"  queried  the  old  woman,  feeling  that  Barbro 
wanted  her  to  stay  at  home.  But  receiving  no  response, 
she  went  about  her  business. 

The  old  woman  was  long  coming  home  that  night.  The 
cows  strayed  and  she  kept  calling  to  them  all  the  while, 
for  they  stopped  whenever  they  came  upon  a  tuft  of  green. 
Walking  along  she  muttered  to  herself  and  scolded 
the  stubborn  animals.  "Oh  dear!"  she  sighed  at  last, 
"you  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  back,  old  Lisa. 
You'll  be  home  quite  soon  enough  for  what  awaits  you 
there." 

When  she  opened  the  door  to  the  cabin  she  saw  Barbro 
sitting  with  the  boy  in  her  lap,  crooning  to  him.  "Oh, 


320  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Lisa,  I  thought  you'd  never  come  home!"  Barbro  ex 
claimed.  "I  don't  know  what  I'm  to  do,  the  boy  is  all 
broken  out."  She  rushed  up  to  the  old  woman  with  the 
child  and  showed  her  a  couple  of  red  spots  on  its  neck. 

Old  Lisa,  standing  at  the  door,  clasped  her  hands  to 
gether  in  astonishment  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"Then  you  don't  think  this  rash  is  anything  serious?'* 
said  Barbro. 

"It  will  be  gone  by  to-morrow,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
still  laughing. 

Lisa's  strange  behaviour  puzzled  Barbro  at  first,  and 
then  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  old  woman  must  have  been 
dreadfully  anxious  all  day.  "It  would  have  been  better 
for  us  all  perhaps,  if  I  had  done  that  thing,"  she  said. 
"I  suppose  you  thought  I  would  when  you  went  away  this 
morning." 

"I  lay  awake  in  the  night,"  the  old  woman  averred, 
"wondering  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  then  something  told 
me  that  little  chap  would  take  care  of  himself  if  I  left  him 
alone  with  you." 

When  they  were  through  with  the  usual  evening  tasks 
and  were  about  to  go  to  bed,  old  Lisa  said  to  Barbro: 
"Have  you  decided  yet  to  let  the  child  live?" 

"Yes,  if  our  Lord  will  only  give  him  health  so  that  I 
may  keep  him." 

"But  what  if  he  should  be  both  blind  and  an  idiot?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  said  Barbro,  "I  couldn't  harm  the 
poor  little  thing  in  any  case.  Whatever  happens  I  shall 
be  thankful  if  I  am  only  allowed  to  take  care  of  him." 


THE  CHILD  321 

The  old  woman  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
pondered  a  bit.  Presently  she  said:  "Now  that  things 
have  taken  this  happy  turn,  of  course  you'll  write  to 
Ingmar." 

Barbro  started.  "I  thought  you  wanted  the  child  to 
live,"  she  said;  "but  if  you  send  for  Ingmar,  there's  no 
telling  what  may  happen." 

"I  don't  see  what  else  there  is  to  do.  Anyone  who 
hears  that  you  have  a  baby  would  be  likely  to  write  and 
tell  him." 

"I  mean  to  keep  this  thing  a  secret  until  Ingmar  has 
married  Gertrude." 

Old  Lisa  saw  plainly  that  Barbro  would  do  something 
desperate  if  crossed,  and  thought  it  wise  not  to  pursue 
the  subject.  "You  have  been  very  kind  to  all  the  old 
servants  at  Ingmar  Farm,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't  want 
to  lose  my  good  mistress." 

"If  I  have  ever  been  good  to  you,  you  can  repay  me 
a  thousandfold  by  doing  as  I  wish  in  this  case." 

Barbro  had  her  way,  and  the  whole  summer  passed 
without  anyone  finding  out  about  the  child.  When 
people  came  up  to  the  sdter,  the  boy  was  hidden  in  the 
hay-shed.  Barbro's  great  concern,  however,  was  how 
she  would  manage  to  conceal  him  in  the  autumn,  on  her 
return  to  the  village. 

Every  hour  the  child  grew  dearer  to  her,  and  with  her 
mother  love  there  came  to  her  some  of  her  old  serenity. 
Though  backward  in  growth  and  development,  little  by 
little  the  boy  gained  in  strength,  but  his  eyes  were  still 


322  THE  HOLY  CITY 

so  inflamed  that  he  could  hardly  open  them.  Barbro 
felt  certain  in  her  own  mind  that  he  was  a  congenital 
idiot.  None  the  less  she  hoped  he  might  be  spared  to 
her.  Sometimes  she  had  moments  of  great  depression, 
mostly  during  the  night,  when  she  would  get  up  and  go 
look  at  the  child  as  it  lay  sleeping.  It  was  not  a  pretty 
baby;  it's  nose  was  too  short  and  its  underlip  too  heavy, 
and  it  had  a  sallow  complexion  and  thin  reddish  hair. 
Going  back  to  bed,  she  would  lie  awake  for  hours, 
grieving  at  the  thought  that  her  son  was  such  a  poor 
little  hapless  being.  But  when  in  the  early  morning 
the  child  awoke  after  a  good  night's  sleep  and  lay  smiling 
in  its  basket,  and  stretched  out  its  little  arms  to  her 
when  she  spoke  to  it,  then  Barbro  felt  calm  and 
reconciled.  "I  don't  believe  that  mothers  with  strong 
healthy  children  love  them  as  much  as  I  love  this  poor 
little  weakling,"  she  thought. 

One  dark  stormy  evening  toward  the  middle  of  Sep 
tember  Barbro  and  Lisa  sat  in  the  cabin  before  an  open 
fire.  Barbro  had  the  child  in  her  lap  and  was  wondering, 
as  usual,  how  she  should  manage  to  keep  the  knowledge 
of  its  existence  from  reaching  Ingmar.  "  For  if  he  hears 
of  this,"  she  thought,  "he  will  be  sure  to  come  back  to 
me,  and  I  could  never  make  him  understand  that  I  want 
to  bear  my  burden  alone." 

As  she  sat  thinking  thus,  the  door  opened  and  in  came 
a  wayfarer.  "Well  met  in  the  forest,"  greeted  the  man. 
"It  was  a  lucky  thing  for  me  that  I  found  this  house,  for 


THE  CHILD  323 

I  could  never  have  made  my  way  down  to  the  village 
in  this  coal  black  darkness.  Happily  I  remembered  that 
the  Ingmar  Sdter  was  somewhere  hereabout." 

The  man  was  a  poor  wretch  who  had  formerly  been 
a  peddler,  and  who  now  went  about  the  country  begging. 
He  was  not  so  reduced  as  to  be  compelled  to  live  upon 
charity;  it  was  simply  that  he  could  not  give  up  his  old 
habit  of  roaming  about  from  place  to  place  to  gather  news. 

Of  course  the  first  thing  that  caught  his  eye  when  he 
entered  the  cabin  was  the  babe.  "Whose  child  is 
that?"  he  asked  at  once. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  were  speechless.  Then 
old  Lisa  blurted  out:  "It  is  Ingmar  Ingmarsson's." 

The  man  started  in  surprise.  He  seemed  a  bit  dis 
concerted  at  having  come  upon  something  which  he  felt 
they  would  rather  he  did  not  know.  To  hide  his  dis 
comfiture  he  bent  over  the  child,  and  said:  "How  old 
might  the  little  one  be?" 

"A  month."    This  time  it  was  Barbro  who  answered. 

The  man  was  unmarried  and  knew  little  about  chil 
dren,  therefore  he  did  not  see  that  the  mother  was  deceiv 
ing  him.  The  man  stared  in  astonishment  at  Barbro, 
who  sat  there  quite  unconcerned.  "Only  a  month,  did 
you  say?" 

"Yes,"  Barbro  answered  calmly. 

Then  he  observed  that  old  Lisa  was  making  signs  at 
her,  while  Barbro,  unheeding,  sat  with  head  proudly 
erect.  "The  old  hag  wouldn't  stick  at  a  lie,"  he  thought, 
"but  Barbro  Svensdotter  is  above  that  sort  of  thing." 


324  THE  HOLY  CITY 

The  next  morning,  when  he  was  taking  leave,  he  gave 
Barbro's  hand  a  significant  squeeze.  "I'll  keep  mum," 
he  said.  "No  one  need  be  the  wiser  for  me  " 

"Trust  you  for  that!"  laughed  Barbro. 

"What  in  the  world  were  you  thinking  about,  Barbro?" 
old  Lisa  burst  forth  the  moment  they  were  alone.  "Why 
did  you  tell  that  lie?" 

"There  was  nothing  else  for  it." 

"Do  you  imagine  that  Peddler  Johannes  will  keep  a 
thing  like  that  to  himself?" 

"I  don't  wish  him  to." 

"Do  you  want  folks  to  think  the  boy  is  not  Ingmar's?" 

"Yes,"  said  Barbro;  "for  now  that  people  are  bound 
to  hear  about  it  we  must  let  them  think  what  they  like." 

"And  do  you  expect  me  to  be  a  party  to  this?" 

"You'll  have  to,  unless  you  want  this  poor  little  idiot 
to  be  the  next  master  of  Ingmar  Farm." 

By  the  middle  of  September  those  who  had  been  to 
the  sdters  for  the  summer  returned  to  their  homes,  and 
Barbro  and  Lisa  went  back  to  the  farm.  They  soon 
found  that  the  whole  parish  knew  about  the  baby.  Nor 
did  Barbro  now  try  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  had  a 
child.  She  was  only  fearful  lest  people  discover  that  it 
was  not  as  other  children. 

Very  naturally  there  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about 
Barbro  that  autumn,  and  people  did  not  trouble  to  hide 
their  thoughts  of  her.  In  time  she  became  so  timid  that 
she  would  hardly  venture  outside  the  house.  Even 
the  servants  showed  a  changed  attitude  toward  her,  and 


THE  CHILD  325 

made  insinuating  remarks  within  her  hearing,  and  she 
had  much  difficulty  in  making  them  obey  her  orders. 

Strong  Ingmar,  who  had  been  staying  at  the  farm  as 
overseer  in  the  absence  of  the  master,  happened  one  day 
to  hear  a  stable  boy  give  Barbro  an  uncivil  answer,  and 
he  dealt  the  fellow  a  stinging  box  on  the  ear  that  sent 
him  reeling.  "If  I  hear  anything  like  that  again," 
said  the  old  man,  "Til  give  you  a  drubbing  you  won't 
forget  in  a  hurry!" 

"Thank  you  for  that,"  said  Barbro. 

Strong  Ingmar  gave  her  a  look  that  was  anything  but 
friendly.  "So  long  as  you  are  mistress  at  Ingmar  Farm 
Pll  see  that  the  servants  show  you  proper  respect,"  he 
said  gruffly. 

Later  in  the  autumn  there  came  word  from  Jerusalem 
that  Gertrude  and  Ingmar  were  on  their  way  to  Sweden. 
When  Barbro  heard  of  this  her  first  feeling  was  one  of 
relief.  She  had  no  doubt  that  Ingmar  would  now  want 
a  full  divorce  and  thought  that  when  once  she  was  free 
she  could  throw  off  the  burden  of  contempt  that  was 
crushing  her.  But  afterwards,  as  she  went  about  her 
household  duties,  the  tears  again  and  again  sprang  to  her 
eyes.  The  thought  that  all  would  soon  be  over  between 
her  and  Ingmar  wrungher  heart;  for  she  knew  that  with 
out  him  her  life  would  be  empty. 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE 

ONE  morning  in  the  late  autumn  people  kept  going 
in  and  out  of  the  school-house,  for  Gertrude 
had  come  home  the  day  before.  She  had 
arranged  upon  the  large  table  in  Mother  Stina's  kitchen 
all  the  parcels  she  had  brought  from  Jerusalem,  and 
sent  word  by  the  school  children  to  everyone  who  had 
relatives  or  friends  among  the  colonists  to  come  down 
to  the  school-house.  They  all  came — Hok  Matts,  Ljung 
Bjorn's  brother  Pehr  and  many,  many  others.  AM  she 
distributed  the  gifts,  she  told  them  about  Jerusalem, 
about  the  colony,  and  the  many  strange  and  wonderful 
experiences  they  had  had  there. 

Bo  Mansson  was  in  the  school-house  the  whole  morning 
helping  Gertrude,  but  Ingmar  did  not  appear.  On  the 
journey  Ingmar  had  felt  satisfied  that  what  Karin  had 
told  him  was  only  a  false  rumour.  But  on  his  arrival, 
when  he  heard  that  it  was  true,  he  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  meeting  people.  He  had  gone  straight  to 
the  home  of  Bo's  parents,  where  he  remained  in  seclusion. 

By  noontime  most  of  the  people  had  been  and  gone, 
and  Gertrude  for  a  while  happened  to  be  alone  in  the 
kitchen.  Then  a  tall,  fine-looking  woman  came  in. 
"Who  can  she  be?"  Gertrude  wondered.  "I  thought 

329 


330  THE  HOLY  CITY 

I  knew  everyone  in  these  parts,  but  I've  never  seen  her 
before." 

The  woman  went  up  to  Gertrude  and  offered  her  hand. 
"You  are  Gertrude,  I  believe,"  she  said  in  a  soft  voice. 
"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  if  it  is  true  that  you  are  not 
going  to  marry  Ingmar." 

Gertrude  at  first  resented  the  stranger's  coming  thus 
abruptly  and  asking  such  a  personal  question,  and  then 
it  struck  her  that  this  must  be  Barbro,  Ingmar Js  wife. 
"No,"  she  said,  "I'm  not  going  to  marry  Ingmar." 

The  woman  sighed  and  walked  toward  the  door.  "I 
could  not  believe  this  until  I  had  heard  it  from  your  own 
lips,"  she  said. 

Barbro  thought  only  of  the  added  difficulties  this  might 
bring  upon  her.  Here  was  Ingmar  at  home  again  with 
no  ties  and  very  likely  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  when 
he  went  away.  "Now  I  wouldn't  dare  let  it  be  known 
that  the  child  is  his,"  she  thought.  "I  know  that  he 
would  think  himself  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  everyone, 
if  he  allowed  me  to  struggle  on  alone  with  a  sick  child.  Of 
course  he  would  ask  me  to  be  his  wife  again,  and  as  I 
couldn't  say  no  to  him  it  would  only  mean  a  return  of  the 
old  doubts  and  fears.  But  it  will  be  hard  for  me  to  go 
through  life  bearing  a  shame  I  have  not  merited."  As 
she  stood  at  the  door  she  turned  to  Gertrude,  and  said 
in  a  low  voice:  "I  suppose  Ingmar  won't  come  back 
to  the  farm  now." 

"Perhaps  he  won't  be  allowed  to  come  until  you  are 
properly  divorced." 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE        331 

"I  hardly  think  he'd  want  to  come  in  any  case." 
Gertrude  rushed  up  to  Barbro.     "I  believe  you  are 
deliberately  wronging  yourself,"  she  cried.     "I  have  said 
so  all  along,  and  now  that  I  have  seen  you  I'm  sure  of 


it.'3 


"How  can  you  say  that  when  you  know  that  I  have 
a  child?" 

"I  think  you  are  treating  Ingmar  shamefully,"  pursued 
Gertrude,  "considering  how  he  has  been  longing  for  you. 
His  whole  life  will  be  ruined  unless  you  tell  him  the 
truth." 

"I've  nothing  to  tell,"  Barbro  answered. 

Gertrude  stood  looking  at  the  woman  as  though  she 
were  trying  to  compel  her  to  speak. 

"Can  you  get  word  to  Ingmar?"  asked  Barbro  presently. 

"Of  course  I  can." 

"Then  tell  him  that  Strong  Ingmar  is  dying,  and  that 
he  must  not  fail  to  come  home  and  bid  him  farewell. 
He  need  have  no  fear  of  meeting  me,"  she  added. 

"It  would  be  well  for  you  both  if  you  did  meet,"  said 
Gertrude. 

Barbro  turned  and  opened  the  door;  then  glancing  back, 
she  said:  "It  isn't  true  that  Ingmar  has  become  blind, 
is  it?" 

"He  has  lost  one  eye,  but  the  other  eye,  which  was 
quite  bad  for  a  time,  is  all  right  now." 

"I  am  glad  I  have  seen  you,"  said  Barbro,  with  a 
tender  smile.  Whereupon  she  went  her  way. 

An   hour  or  so  later   Ingmar  was  on   his  way  to  the 


332  THE  HOLY  CITY 

farm  to  take  last  leave  of  Strong  Ingmar.  He  walked 
slowly,  as  though  each  step  were  an  effort. 

At  the  roadside  was  a  wretched  hovel,  and  when  Ingmar 
was  still  at  some  distance  from  it  he  descried  a  man  and 
a  woman  standing  at  the  door.  The  man  was  poor 
and  shabby,  and  Ingmar  saw  the  woman  put  something 
into  his  hand  and  then  hasten  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  Ingmar  Farm.  As  Ingmar  was  passing  the  place 
the  man  stood  counting  some  silver  coin  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  he  recognized  him  as  Stig  Borjesson. 

Stig  did  not  see  Ingmar  until  the  latter  had  gone  by, 
when  he  called:  "Wait,  Ingmar,  wait!  Why  don't  you 
stop!"  he  shouted,  and  ran  out  into  the  road.  "I  want 
to  speak  with  you."  But  as  Ingmar  walked  on  without 
even  glancing  back  Stig  was  provoked.  "Very  well, 
suit  yourself!"  he  said.  "I  had  meant  to  tell  you 
something  you'd  be  glad  to  know." 

A  few  moments  later  Ingmar  was  close  upon  the  heels 
of  the  woman  he  had  seen  with  Stig  Borjesson.  She  was 
evidently  in  a  great  hurry,  for  she  walked  very  rapidly. 
Hearing  some  one  behind  her  and  thinking  it  was  Stig 
she  said  without  turning  round:  "You  must  be 
satisfied  with  what  I  have  given  you;  I  have  no  more 
money  to-day."  Ingmar  said  nothing,  but  quickened 
his  pace.  "You  shall  have  some  more  next  week  if  you 
will  promise  not  to  tell  Ingmar  anything." 

Just  then  Ingmar  came  up  with  her  and  put  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  Shaking  herself  free  she  turned  upon 
him  with  an  indignant  protest.  When  she  saw  that  it 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE        333 

was  Ingmar,  and  not  Stig,  she  clasped  her  hands  in  glad 
surprise.  As  their  eyes  met  Ingmar  slowly  raised  his 
arm  and  his  eyebrows  contracted  in  a  deep  frown.  He 
looked  as  if  he  could  have  struck  her  to  the  earth. 

She  stood  a  moment  regarding  him  fearlessly,  then 
quietly  drew  back.  "No,  no,  Ingmar,"  she  said,  "do  not 
make  yourself  unhappy  on  my  account." 

Ingmar  let  his  arm  drop.  "I  ask  your  pardon,"  he 
said  coldly.  "I  couldn't  bear  seeing  you  in  Stig's  com 
pany." 

Barbro  answered  in  a  calm,  even  voice:  "Indeed,  I 
should  be  thankful  to  anyone  who  would  rid  me  of  my 
life." 

Without  a  word,  Ingmar  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  and  walked  on  in  silence.  Barbro  too  continued 
on  her  way,  silent.  The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "He 
won't  even  speak  to  me,"  she  thought,  "and  we  haven't 
seen  each  other  in  such  a  long  time.  To  think  of  our 
both  being  so  unhappy!  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  despise 
me.  Perhaps  I'd  better  tell  him  the  whole  truth,  and 
then  make  away  with  myself." 

So  she  spoke  to  him.  "You  do  not  ask  how  Strong 
Ingmar  is?" 

"I'll  soon  be  at  the  house,"  he  returned  sullenly,  "and 
can  find  out  for  myself." 

"He  came  to  me  this  morning  and  said  that  a  message 
had  come  to  him  in  the  night  that  this  would  be  his  last 
day  on  earth." 

"Is  he  not  ill,  then?" 


334  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"He  has  been  troubled  with  rheumatism  the  whole 
year,  and  has  fretted  a  good  deal  because  you  did  not 
come  home  so  that  he  might  be  released.  He  has  said 
all  along  that  he  couldn't  leave  until  you  returned  from 
the  pilgrimage." 

"And  he  is  no  more  ill  to-day  than  usual?" 

"No;  he  is  no  worse  than  he  has  been  for  months  past, 
yet  he  feels  so  certain  his  time  has  come,  that  he  has 
actually  gone  to  bed  in  the  little  room  to  await  the  end. 
He  insists  that  everything  must  be  just  as  it  was  when  your 
father  died,  and  wants  us  to  send  for  the  pastor  and  the 
doctor,  because  they  were  called  in  when  Big  Ingmar  was 
dying.  He  has  also  asked  for  the  fine  quilt  which  was 
spread  over  Big  Ingmar's  bed  that  day,  but  it  was  not 
at  the  farm.  It  had  been  sold  at  the  auction." 

"Many  things  were  sold  at  that  auction,"  Ingmar 
put  in. 

"One  of  the  maid-servants  told  me  that  Stig  Borjesson 
had  bought  it;  so  I  thought  I  would  try  to  get  it  back, 
simply  to  please  Strong  Ingmar.  "I  have  it  here,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  a  bundle  she  was  carrying. 

"You  have  always  been  good  to  the  old  folk,"  observed 
Ingmar.  His  voice  sounded  hard  and  cold,  though  he 
meant  to  speak  kindly.  After  that  nothing  more  was 
said. 

Barbro  looked  ahead  wistfully.  "Home  seems  such 
a  long  way  off!"  she  thought.  "It  will  be  a  half-hour 
before  we  are  there,  and  I  shall  have  to  walk  on  seeing 
all  the  while  how  unhappy  he  is  and  yet  unable  to  help 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         335 

him.  To  tell  him  the  truth  would  only  make  matters 
worse,  for  in  that  case  his  life  would  again  be  linked  with 
mine.  Never,  never  have  I  been  put  to  so  crucial  a  test!" 

Though  they  tried  to  hasten,  the  way  seemed  inter 
minably  long.  Their  heavy  thoughts  seemed  to  retard 
their  steps. 

When  they  finally  reached  the  farm  and  were  about 
to  pass  in  at  the  gate,  Ingmar  barred  the  way. 

"I  must  take  this  opportunity  to  tell  you  of  a  plan 
I  have  in  mind,  and  if  you  will  not  agree  to  it  we  may 
perhaps  never  see  each  other  again.  I  propose  that  we 
withdraw  the  application  for  a  divorce."  There  was  an 
uncompromising  note  in  Ingmar's  voice  and  his  eyes  did 
not  rest  upon  Barbro,  but  upon  the  old  homestead.  He 
nodded  to  the  long  row  of  buildings,  the  low  windows 
and  apertures  of  which  seemed  to  return  his  salutes  with 
a  grave  stare. 

"Yes,  they  are  eyeing  me,"  he  thought.  "They  want 
to  see  if  I  have  at  last  learned  to  walk  in  the  ways  of 
God. 

"I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  our  future  to-day," 
he  continued,  "and  have  said  to  myself,  again  and  again, 
that  a  woman  like  Barbro  must  not  be  allowed  to  ruin 
her  life;  that  it  is  my  duty  to  protect  her  though  we  can 
never  again  live  as  husband  and  wife.  Now  I  want  to 
know  if  you  would  not  like  to  go  back  with  me  to  Jeru 
salem,  where  we  could  both  join  the  colony.  The  col 
onists  are  good  people,  and  besides,  there  are  so  many  of 
our  own  folk  out  there  that  you  would  soon  feel  at  home." 


336  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Would  you  give  up  the  farm  for  my  sake?" 

"I  want  to  do  what  is  right,  that's  all." 

"You  have  already  lost  the  use  of  one  eye  in  Jerusalem 
and  I  know  that  you  were  obliged  to  come  home  in  order 
to  save  the  other." 

"We  mustn't  think  about  that  now,"  said  Ingmar. 
"All  will  be  well  for  us  if  we  only  do  what  is  right." 

Barbro  again  felt  it  would  be  a  mercy  to  tell  him  the 
truth.  "No,"  she  bethought  herself.  "It  is  best  that 
our  ways  should  part." 

As.  she  did  not  answer,  Ingmar  said:  "This  time  it  will 
be  a  long  parting,  Barbro." 

"Yes,"  she  sighed,  and  gave  him  her  hand.    As  he  held 
her  hand  in  his  a  tremor  passed  through  him.     For  a  mo 
ment  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  draw  her  to  him  in  a 
passionate  embrace.     "I'll  go  in  now  and  tell   Strong 
Ingmar  that  you  are  here,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  do,"  said  Ingmar,  quickly  releasing  her  hand. 

Strong  Ingmar  lay  abed  in  the  little  room.  He  suffered 
no  pain,  but  his  heart  beat  feebly  and  his  breathing  was 
becoming  increasingly  difficult.  "Now  I  know  that  my 
time  has  come,"  he  mused. 

He  had  his  violin  by  his  side,  and  when  there  was  no 
one  in  the  room  he  let  his  fingers  wander  over  the  strings; 
and  then  he  seemed  to  hear  old  dance-tunes  and  folk 
songs  he  used  to  play.  When  the  pastor  and  the  doctor 
came  in  he  pushed  the  fiddle  away,  and  began  to  re 
late  wonderful  things  that  had  happened  to  him  in  days 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         337 

gone  by.  They  were  mostly  about  Big  Ingmar  and  about 
the  elves  and  fairies  of  the  woods,  who  for  many  years 
had  been  his  good  friends.  But  from  the  day  Helgum 
cut  down  the  rosebush  outside  his  hut,  the  old  man  said, 
the  world  had  not  been  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in. 
The  elves  and  fairies  had  ceased  to  watch  over  him  and 
he  had  been  visited  by  all  kinds  of  infirmities. 

"Your  Reverence  can  imagine  my  joy  when  Big  Ing- 
mar  came  to  me  last  night  and  told  me  I  wouldn't  have 
to  look  after  his  farm  any  longer,  but  could  now  go  to 


rest/ 


The  old  man  was  very  solemn;  it  was  evident  that  he 
firmly  believed  he  was  dying.  The  pastor  remarked  that 
he  did  not  look  very  ill,  but  the  doctor,  who  had  examined 
him,  said  gravely:  "Strong  Ingmar  knows  whereof  he 
speaks.  It  is  not  in  vain  that  he  awaits  his  release." 

When  Barbro  came  in  and  spread  the  beautiful  quilt 
over  him,  the  old  man  turned  quite  pale.  "The  end  is 
nearing,"  he  said,  patting  Barbro's  hand.  "Thank  you 
for  this,  and  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  And  now  you 
must  forgive  me  for  having  been  so  hard  upon  you  of 
late."  Barbro  swallowed  hard;  there  was  so  much  pent 
up  anguish  in  her  heart  that  she  could  hardly  keep  back 
the  tears.  The  old  man  patted  her  hand  again,  and 
smiled  up  at  her. 

"Ingmar  will  soon  be  here,"  she  said  comfortingly. 

At  this  moment  Ingmar  entered.  The  old  man  with 
great  effort  raised  himself  in  bed,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  him.  "Welcome  back  to  you!"  he  said. 


338  THE  HOLY  CITY 

Ingmar  was  deeply  moved  when  he  saw  him.  "Never 
did  I  think  that  you  would  lie  down  to  die  on  the  day 
of  my  home-coming!"  he  said. 

"You  mustn't  reproach  me  for  that,"  the  old  man 
replied.  "You  surely  remember  that  Big  Ingmar  said 
I  might  come  to  him  as  soon  as  you  returned  from  the 
pilgrimage." 

Ingmar  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  the  sick 
man  stroked  his  hand,  but  did  not  speak  for  a  long  while. 
It  was  plain  that  the  end  was  drawing  near,  for  the  pallor 
of  death  was  on  his  face  and  his  breathing  had  become 
heavy  and  laboured. 

When  Barbro  went  out  of  the  room  he  began  to  ques 
tion  Ingmar.  "Has  all  gone  well  with  you?"  he  asked, 
looking  sharply  at  him. 

"I  have  made  a  good  journey,"  Ingmar  replied. 

"I  hear  that  Gertrude  has  come  back  with  you." 

"Yes;  she  is  with  her  parents  now,  and  she  is  going 
to  marry  my  cousin,  Bo  Mansson." 

"Are  you  pleased  at  that,  Ingmar?" 

"I'm  thoroughly  pleased  at  that,"  said  Ingmar  em 
phatically. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  There  seemed  to  be 
something  back  of  it  all  which  he  could  not  understand. 
"But  what  about  your  eyes?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"I  lost  the  sight  of  one  eye  in  Jerusalem." 

"And  are  you  pleased  at  that  too?" 

"You  know,  Strong  Ingmar,  that  our  Lord  demands 
a  sacrifice  from  one  to  whom  He  grants  a  great  boon." 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         339 

"Have  you,  then,  received  some  special  grace?" 

"Yes;  grace  has  been  given  to  me  to  make  good  a 
great  wrong  I  did  another." 

The  dying  man  turned  restlessly  from  side  to  side. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  asked  Ingmar. 

"No,"  said  the  old  man,  "but  I'm  troubled." 

"What  is  it  that  troubles  you?" 

"You  are  not  lying  to  me,  Ingmar,  so  that  I  may  pass 
out  in  peace?"  asked  the  old  man  very  tenderly. 

Ingmar,  taken  off  his  guard,  fell  to  sobbing. 

"Now  tell  me  the  honest  truth,"  said  the  old  man. 

Ingmar  quickly  controlled  himself.  "Surely  I  may 
weep  when  I'm  to  lose  my  good  friend." 

The  old  man  grew  more  and  more  restless,  and  a  cold 
sweat  broke  out  on  his  forehead.  "You  have  but  just 
come  back,  Ingmar,"  he  said  presently;  "so  I  don't  know 
if  you  have  had  any  news  from  the  farm." 

"What  you  are  now  thinking  about  I  heard  in  Jeru 
salem." 

"I  should  have  guarded  better  what  was  yours." 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Strong  Ingmar,  that  you  wrong  Bar- 
bro  if  you  think  ill  of  her." 

"Am  I  wronging  her?" 

"You  are,"  said  Ingmar  vehemently.  "It's  well  I 
came  home  so  she  has  someone  to  defend  her  against  these 
scandal  mongers." 

The  old  man  was  about  to  reply,  when  Barbro,  who  had 
been  in  the  outer  room  arranging  the  coffee  tray  for  the 
visitors  and  had  heard  the  whole  conversation  through 


340  THE  HOLY  CITY 

the  half-open  door,  came  in.  She  went  up  to  L/igmar  as 
if  to  speak  to  him;  but  instead  she  bent  over  the  old  man 
and  asked  him  how  he  felt. 

"I  feel  better  now  that  I  have  talked  with  Ingmar," 
he  told  her. 

"Yes,  it  is  good  to  talk  with  him,"  Barbro  whispered. 
Then  she  went  and  sat  down  by  the  window. 

Strong  Ingmar  now  lay  still,  with  eyes  closed  and 
hands  folded.  The  others  kept  very  quiet  so  as  not  to 
disturb  him. 

The  old  man's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  time  of  Big 
Ingmar's  passing.  He  seemed  to  see  the  little  room 
as  it  was  the  day  he  came  in  to  bid  Big  Ingmar  fare 
well.  He  remembered  how  the  little  children  his  master 
had  rescued  from  the  flood  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  when 
he  died. 

"You  see,  Big  Ingmar,  that  you  were  more  blessed 
than  I  am,"  he  whispered.  For  he  felt  that  the  friend 
of  his  youth  was  very  close.  "The  pastor  and  the  doctor 
are  both  here,  and  your  quilt  is  spread  over  me,  but 
there  is  no  little  child  on  my  bed." 

He  had  no  sooner  breathed  these  words  than  he  heard 
a  voice  say:  "There  is  a  little  child  at  the  farm  for 
which  you  could  perform  an  act  of  mercy  in  your  last 
hour." 

Strong  Ingmar  smiled  to  himself.  He  seemed  at  once 
to  understand  what  he  must  do.  In  a  voice  which  was 
now  very  feeble,  though  still  quite  audible,  he  lamented 
that  the  pastor  and  the  doctor  were  obliged  to  wait  so 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         341 

long  for  his  going.  "But  as  the  pastor  is  here,  I  want 
to  say  that  there  is  an  unchristened  child  in  the  house 
which  I  had  thought  of  asking  him  to  baptize  while  wait- 
ing." 

It  was  quiet  in  the  room  before  the  old  man  had  spoken, 
but  afterwards  it  was  even  more  so.  Presently  the 
pastor  said:  "It  was  well  you  thought  of  that,  Strong 
Ingmar;  the  rest  of  us  should  have  seen  to  it  long  ago." 

Barbro  rose  in  utter  dismay.  "No,  no!"  she  pro 
tested,  "we  cannot  do  that  now."  She  knew  that  when 
the  child  was  christened  she  would  have  to  say  who  the 
father  was,  and  on  that  account  had  put  off  the  christen 
ing.  She  had  planned  to  have  the  child  baptized  when 
she  was  really  divorced  from  Ingmar.  Now  she  was 
almost  beside  herself  with  fear. 

"You  might  give  me  the  happiness  of  doing  a  good 
deed  in  my  last  hour,"  said  Strong  Ingmar,  repeating  the 
words  he  thought  he  had  heard. 

"No,  I  cannot,"  said  Barbro. 

Then  the  doctor  advised  that  it  would  be  well  to  let 
the  old  man  have  his  way.  "Strong  Ingmar  would  feel 
easier  if  he  had  something  to  think  of  besides  his  ap 
proaching  death." 

Barbro  felt  as  if  held  in  a  vise  when  they  asked  her 
to  do  this  in  a  room  where  a  man  was  about  to  draw  his 
last  breath.  "Surely  you  must  understand  that  this  is 
impossible!"  she  moaned. 

The  pastor  went  up  to  her,  and  said  gravely:  "You 
know  of  course  that  your  child  will  have  to  be  baptized." 


342  THE  HOLY  CITY 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  "but  not  to-day.  To-morrow 
I'll  bring  him  to  the  parsonage.  I  can't  have  it  done  now, 
when  Strong  Ingmar  is  dying." 

"Not  when  you  know  that  it  would  please  him?" 

Ingmar  Ingmarsson  had  been  sitting  all  this  while 
silent  and  motionless.  He  was  deeply  affected  at  seeing 
Barbro  thus  humiliated  and  unhappy.  "This  is  terribly 
hard  for  a  proud  woman  like  her,"  he  thought.  He 
could  not  bear  that  the  one  whom  he  had  loved  and 
esteemed  above  all  others  should  be  subject  to  shame 
and  dishonour.  "Don't  insist  upon  this,"  he  said  to 
Strong  Ingmar.  "It  is  too  hard  for  Barbro." 

"We  will  make  it  as  easy  for  her  as  we  can,"  the 
pastor  interposed,  "if  she  will  fetch  the  child.  She  need 
only  set  down  on  a  piece  of  paper  what  is  necessary  for 
me  to  know,  so  that  I  can  enter  it  in  the  church  books 
when  I  get  home." 

"No,  I  can't  do  it!"  said  Barbro,  whose  only  thought 
was  to  have  the  christening  postponed. 

Strong  Ingmar  now  raised  himself  in  bed.  "It  will 
weigh  heavily  on  your  conscience  to  the  end  of  your 
days,  Ingmar,  if  you  do  not  see  that  my  last  wish  is  car 
ried  out." 

Ingmar  then  went  up  to  Barbro  and  whispered  to  her: 
"I  suppose  you  know  that  a  married  woman  need  not  give 
any  name  for  the  child's  father  but  her  husband's.  Now 
I  will  have  the  child  brought  in."  He  looked  anxiously 
at  Barbro,  who  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  "I 
fear  she  may  lose  her  reason,"  he  thought  as  he  went  out. 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         343 

The  few  preparations  for  the  service  were  soon  made. 
The  pastor  took  his  robe  and  prayer-book  out  of  the  bag 
which  he  carried  with  him  on  all  occasions,  and  after 
a  bowl  of  water  had  been  placed  upon  the  table,  old  Lisa 
brought  in  the  child. 

As  the  pastor  was  adjusting  his  stole,  he  said:  "Now 
I  must  know  what  name  this  child  is  to  bear." 

"The  mother  herself  will  name  him  of  course,"  said 
the  doctor. 

They  all  turned  to  Barbro.  Her  lips  moved  as  if  in 
speech,  but  no  sound  came. 

"She  is  thinking  of  the  name  her  child  would  bear 
if  all  were  right,"  Ingmar  mused.  "That's  why  she 
can't  speak."  He  felt  such  compassion  for  her  that  all 
resentment  passed  and  the  great  love  he  bore  his  wife 
conquered  every  other  feeling.  "Her  child  can  just  as 
well  be  called  Ingmar,"  he  thought.  "Why  not?  We 
have  to  part  in  any  case.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
we  could  make  people  think  the  child  was  mine;  for 
then  Barbro  would  get  back  her  good  name  and  stand 
ing  in  the  community.  As  it  was  Strong  Ingmar's 
suggestion  that  the  boy  be  baptized  now,"*  he  said 
aloud,  "I  think  he  should  be  named  after  him."  He 
looked  at  Barbro  to  see  whether  she  had  grasped  his 
meaning. 

The  moment  Ingmar  had  uttered  these  words  Barbro 
arose  and  slowly  crossed  the  room  until  she  stood  op 
posite  the  pastor.  Then  she  said  in  a  steady  voice: 
"Ingmar  has  been  so  kind  to  me  that  I  cannot  bear  to 


344  THE  HOLY  CITY 

cause  him  further  suffering,  so  now  I  will  confess  that  the 
child  is  his.  But  Ingmar  the  boy  shall  not  be  called, 
for  he  is  blind  and  an  idiot." 

Instantly  she  had  said  this  she  realized  that  the  secret 
upon  which  her  life  hung  had  been  wrung  from  her.  She 
burst  into  tears,  and  feeling  that  she  could  restrain  her 
self  no  longer,  she  hurried  out  of  the  room  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  dying  man.  She  flung  herself  across  the 
table  in  the  living  room  and  sobbed  violently.  In  a  while 
she  raised  her  head  to  hear  what  was  going  on  in  the  inner 
room.  Someone  was  talking  in  subdued  tones.  It  was 
old  Lisa  relating  what  had  happened  at  the  sdter. 

Again  she  bitterly  regretted  that  her  secret  had  been 
revealed,  and  again  fell  to  weeping.  What  could  have 
caused  her  to  speak  just  when  Ingmar  had  made  things 
so  easy  for  her?  she  wondered.  Why  could  she  not  have 
waited  a  little  longer,  until  she  had  got  her  divorce? 
"I  must  put  an  end  to  it  all,"  she  thought;  "I  cannot 
go  on  living." 

The  pastor  was  now  reading  the  Baptismal  Service. 
He  spoke  distinctly  and  she  could  hear  every  word. 
When  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  child  should  be 
named,  he  raised  his  voice  and  said:  "I  name  this  child 
Ingmar."  Hearing  which  Barbro  in  her  helplessness 
again  fell  to  weeping. 

Shortly  afterward,  the  door  opened  and  Ingmar  came 
out.  Barbro  quickly  choked  back  her  tears.  "You 
understand,  of  course,  that  everything  between  us  must 
be  as  we  arranged  before  you  went  away,"  she  said. 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         345 

Ingmar  gently  stroked  her  hair.  "I  shall  not  force 
you  to  do  anything.  After  what  you  have  just  done  I 
know  that  you  love  me  more  than  your  own  life." 

She  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  hard.  "Will  you 
promise  to  let  me  have  the  entire  care  of  the  child?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ingmar.  "Everything  shall  be  as  you 
wish.  Old  Lisa  has  told  us  how  you  have  fought  for  that 
child,  and  no  one  could  have  the  heart  to  take  it  away  from 
you." 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  She  could  hardly 
grasp  the  fact  that  her  fears  and  apprehensions  had  sud 
denly  been  swept  away.  "I  thought  you  would  never 
forgive  me  once  you  knew  the  truth,"  she  told  him.  "I 
am  more  grateful  than  I  can  say.  I'm  glad  we  part  as 
friends  and  can  speak  to  each  other  without  ill-feeling 
when  we  chance  to  meet." 

Ingmar  smiled.  "I  wonder  if  you  wouldn't  like  to  go 
with  me  to  Jerusalem  now,  Barbro?"  he  said. 

Barbro  had  never  seen  him  like  that  before.  His  face 
was  transformed;  his  heavy  features  were  as  if  illumined 
by  an  inner  light  that  made  him  look  almost  handsome. 
"What  does  this  mean,  Ingmar?  Have  you  some  plan 
in  mind?  I  heard  that  you  called  the  boy  Ingmar.  Why 
did  you  do  that?" 

"Now  you  shall  hear  something  wonderful,  Barbro," 
he  said,  taking  hold  of  both  her  hands.  "As  soon  as 
old  Lisa  had  told  us  all  that  happened  up  at  the  sdter, 
I  had  the  doctor  examine  the  child;  he  declares  there  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  it.  He  says  that  it  is  rather 


346  THE  HOLY  CITY 

small  for  its  age  but  quite  sound  and  healthy,  and  as 
bright  as  any  baby." 

"But  doesn't  the  doctor  think  it  looks  queer  and  ugly?" 
asked  Barbro  breathlessly. 

"The  children  in  our  family  are  no  better  looking  as  a 
rule,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Ingmar. 

"And  doesn't  he  think  the  boy  blind,  either?" 

"The  doctor  will  probably  laugh  at  you,  Barbro,  as 
long  as  he  lives  for  imagining  such  a  thing.  He  says 
that  to-morrow  he  will  send  you  a  lotion  with  which  you 
are  to  bathe  the  boy's  eyes.  In  less  than  a  week  he  assures 
me  they'll  be  all  right." 

Barbro  hastened  toward  the  little  room.  Ingmar 
called  her  back.  "You  can't  have  the  child  just  now," 
he  said.  "Strong  Ingmar  has  asked  us  to  let  it  rest  on 
his  bed,  so  that  he  can  have  everything  just  as  father 
had  it.  I  know  that  he  would  like  to  keep  the  boy  with 
him  until  the  end." 

"I'm  not  going  to  take  him  away  from  Strong  Ing 
mar,"  said  Barbro.  "But  I  must  talk  with  the  doctor 
myself." 

When  she  came  back  she  crossed  over  to  the  window, 
going  past  Ingmar.  "I  have  questioned  the  doctor," 
she  said,  "and  am  satisfied  that  it  is  so."  She  lifted 
her  arms  toward  heaven  as  a  bird  set  free  lifts  its 
wings  for  a  skyward  flight.  "Ingmar,  you  don't  know 
what  happiness  is!" 

"Barbro,  may  I  talk  to  you  now  of  our  future?"  Ing 
mar  pleaded.  But  she  did  not  hear  him.  She  had  folded 


HOME  FROM  THE  PILGRIMAGE         347 

her  hands,  and  stood  pouring  out  her  soul  in  thanks  to 
God.  She  confided  to  Him  all  the  anguish  and  fear  she 
had  felt  for  the  fate  of  her  child,  and  thanked  Him  that 
her  little  one  was  as  other  children;  that  she  would 
see  him  romp  and  play;  that  he  would  one  day  go  to 
school,  and  learn  to  read  and  write;  that  he  would 
grow  up  to  be  a  strong  youth,  able  to  wield  an  axe  and 
drive  a  plow,  and  might  some  day  bring  home  a  wife 
and  live  at  the  Ingmar  Farm  as  its  master. 

Then  she  turned  to  Ingmar,  her  face  radiant  with  joy. 
"I  know  now  why  my  father  used  to  say  that  the  Ing- 
marssons  were  the  best  people  in  the  whole  parish." 

"Perhaps  our  Lord  has  been  more  indulgent  with  us 
than  with  others,"  Ingmar  said  humbly.  "But  now 
I  must  talk  to  you ' 

"No,"  Barbro  interrupted,  "it  is  because  you  are 
never  satisfied  until  you  have  found  favour  with  our 
Lord.  It  is  for  your  sake  the  curse  has  been  removed. 
Because  you  made  that  pilgrimage  everything  has  come 
right.  All  that  enabled  me  to  bear  up  last  winter  was 
the  hope  that  God  might  be  merciful  to  me  because  you 
had  gone  on  that  mission  to  Jerusalem." 

Ingmar  bowed  his  head.  "I  know  that  all  my  life  I've 
been  the  weakest  of  mortals,"  he  answered,  with  great 
humility. 

"Do  you  know  what  was  said  in  there  a  while  ago? 
The  pastor  declared  that  hereafter  people  would  call 
you  Big  Ingmar,  because  you  stand  so  well  in  the  sight 
of  our  Lord." 


348  THE  HOLY  CITY 

They  were  now  seated  on  the  old  corner  sofa.  Barbro 
had  nestled  close  to  Ingmar;  but  his  arm  hung  straight 
down  and  his  face  grew  darker  and  darker. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  are  angry  with  me,"  said  Barbro. 
"You  are  thinking  of  how  I  treated  you  when  we  met 
in  the  road.  But  I  want  you  to  know  that  that  was  the 
hardest  moment  of  my  life." 

"How  can  I  be  happy  when  I  don't  know  how  I  stand 
with  you?"  said  Ingmar.  "You  say  so  many  nice 
things  to  me,  but  you  haven't  told  me  that  you  will 
remain  with  me  as  my  wife." 

"Haven't  I?"  asked  Barbro,  smiling.  Suddenly  her 
fear  came  back,  and  she  shuddered.  Then,  looking 
around  her,  she  saw  the  old  room  with  its  broad  low 
window,  the  old  seats  along  the  wall,  and  the  hearth 
where  generation  after  generation  had  sat  working  in 
the  light  of  the  peat  fire.  This  gave  her  a  feeling  of 
security,  she  felt  that  here  was  a  haven  of  safety  and  pro 
tection.  "I  could  never  live  anywhere  but  in  your 
home,"  she  said. 

The  pastor  came  to  the  door  and  beckoned  to  them. 
"Strong  Ingmar  now  sees  heaven  open,"  he  said  softly. 

THE    END 


RETORN 

rfetfptwo5"1 
^KDS-vs 


W23^ 


U.C.  BERKELEY  L1BBAB1ES 


